


Little White Lies

by BJackson



Series: Two Leapers [6]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 17:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12730941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: Something odd is happening to Al as he and Sam try to track down a serial killer. And unknown to them, another leaper is altering the timeline.





	1. Chapter 1

     For Sam and Al, finding themselves saddled as each other had to’ve been one of their strangest leaps yet, and Sam had at different points become pregnant and a chimp. But for all of the bickering and embarrassment, they’d come away with a better understanding of their best friend and themselves. Not to mention, it felt good to have a leap where the objective had not involved death, dismemberment, or any otherwise horrific scenario. Potential destruction of their personal timeline notwithstanding.

     Every once in a while GTFW tossed them a bone, and Al for one was grateful for the reprieve. Fingers crossed, this could be the start of a trend. He preferred the brief trip home to getting shot in the jungle or driving off a cliff, that was for sure. Now if only they could leap home on a more permanent basis. For the time being, he was hoping the next destination would be Vegas.

     The warm, fuzzy feeling of a leap well done faded slowly as whoever was leaping them in time deposited Al in their next destination. He was feeling pretty good about their last leap, all things considered. Hell, if they could handle being each other, they could handle  _anything_. In fact, he was starting to like being a leaper.

     The blue sparks dwindled away, and it took Al a moment to orient himself to his new surroundings. He was crouched down, wobbling to stay upright. Gradually his balance came back and his vision cleared, and he was able to get a good look at where he’d landed.

     In front of him was a woman’s colorless face, glassy eyed and motionless. She was naked in a tub, the water red, and her wrists slit open.

     Filled with sudden hysteria, he slipped in the blood on the floor and fell on his backside. He couldn’t breathe. But he did manage one jagged whisper.

     “Oh boy…”

     His limbs were frozen to the spot, he was so terrified. His gaze was glued on the woman’s face—she’d been dead for a while, but he couldn’t help but feel that if he dared move she’d stretch out her ghoulish arms and pull him under the water. His stomach churned dangerously as unwanted memories haunted him. Oh boy. Oh, god.

     “Should’ve put up a ‘caution: wet floor’ sign,” someone joked.

     Al jumped and slid in the blood again. Jeez louise! He hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. Next to him was a man with a camera, who stopped taking pictures for a moment and shook his head at Al’s perceived clumsiness.

     “Careful with the crime scene, Stokes.”

     Crime scene? Al looked down to find himself dressed in a policeman’s uniform. Still in a daze, he managed to twist his head around. No, he wasn’t alone at all, in fact the apartment was quite busy. Other officers were investigating the area and taking statements. Behind him he spotted Sam, also in uniform, just now adjusting to his new environment. They locked eyes and Sam kept quiet for now, but when he caught sight of the body the color drained from his face.

     Feeling like he was gonna ralf at this point, Al staggered shakily to his feet, sticky hands spread out and afraid to touch anything. He had to get out of here. Even with his back turned, he felt her eyes on him. The walls seemed to be closing in as that familiar feeling of dread sunk deep in his stomach.

     A few people stared at his odd demeanor. “I…” he gasped, “I can’t… I’ve gotta…” Hyperventilating prevented him from finishing, so he simply stumbled past Sam and out of the apartment.

     A skinny officer with a mop of curly brown hair hitched an eyebrow curiously. “What’s his problem?”

     Sam realized he was addressing him. It put him on the spot as he was still trying to take in the entire situation. “Uh…breakfast didn’t agree with him,” he covered.

     “Breakfast? It’s 5 o’clock.”

     “…he didn’t have lunch,” Sam told him quietly, only half paying attention as he slowly inched closer to the tub.

     The scene before him was grisly. The water was so saturated it was hard to see the body beneath, and the arm dangling off the side had dripped down the tub and onto the floor. The woman’s blonde hair was stained, framing a haunting, empty expression. It was difficult to look at her, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

     This was not the first, second, or even third instance where Sam had leaped in to find a body, but every time he felt the same. Something unthinkable had happened, and he was too late to stop it. The violent energy was so palpable it surrounded the room like a thick fog.

     The officer who had addressed him stepped up with a notepad. His name tag read Pitts. “This is, uh, Victoria Hershey. 34 years old, second grade teacher. According to the husband she had a history of depression, so…looks like we’re dealing with another suicide.” He glanced down at the body and whistled. “Damn shame. I never had any teachers who looked like _that_.”

     Sam shot daggers at him. “Do you mind? The woman’s dead.”

     Chuckling, Pitts lifted a shoulder defensively. “Alright. It was just a joke.”

     Sam imagined the classroom of children wondering what happened to Mrs. Hershey and failed to see the humor. Somehow he doubted Pitts’s assessment. It couldn’t be suicide. If that were the case, why would they leap in after the fact?

     Spotting something hidden away, Sam crouched down closer and furrowed his brows. “Hey, come look at this.”

     Pitts peered over his shoulder. “Whoa, nice catch! Hey Brown, got a shot for ya.”

     As the forensic photographer began snapping pictures, Sam got a closer look. Wedged between the tub and the trash can was a piece of bloodstained flannel. It had been torn off of something—a piece of clothing maybe—but not anything in the room. It would be easy to miss if, say…you were staging a suicide.

     Sam’s instinct had been right. This was murder.

     “Excuse me, excuse me—” The sound of a struggle caught Sam’s attention. A chubby woman with a sharp bob of black hair and tape recorder was trying to get past a few officers who were keeping her at bay. She yelled at Sam. “Officer Bowman, can you tell me the name of the deceased?”

     “Jeez, how did she get in here so fast?” Pitts complained, striding over to help her find her way out. “Okay, Mahoney, it’s time to move along.”

     “Get your hands off of me! The public has a right to know about the news as soon as it hits!” She jerked herself away and looked to Sam again. “Was this suicide in any way linked to a recent tragedy? The loss of a loved one, perhaps?” Sam stared at her with incredulity. Did she have no respect for the dead? “Stop manhandling me! I’ll sue you!”

     “You heard me! Out!” Pitts pushed her out the door and her loud protests faded away.

     Sam returned his gaze to the body. “I’m sorry, Victoria,” he murmured, “We’ll find out who did this.”

     Someone had to speak for her. She was silent now.

\-------

The bathroom mirror offered Sam a glimpse of the person he’d leaped into—Bowman, was it? A slightly heavyset black man with close-cropped hair stared back at him haggardly. This had been a rough leap in. He’d spent far too much time in this room today; he hadn’t noticed how used to the smell he’d gotten until he stepped out.

     Exiting the apartment, he found Al waiting in the hallway alone and looking much worse than he did. Traumatized eyes scanned the floor as he leaned against the wall. Sam held no blame for him running away; he knew how dead bodies affected him. Whenever a corpse had shown up when he was Observer, he’d always made a hasty exit.

     He was careful to not sneak up, walking softly. His friend’s eyes flickered up sheepishly. “You okay?”

     With some chagrin, Al kept his head low and nodded. “Uh…I’m sorry I ran out on you.” He rubbed the side of his face with his freshly washed hand. “I just, uh…I don’t like being surprised like that.”

     Sam shook his head to dismiss the unnecessary apology. “I understand.” A pause. “We’re done here, so we don’t have to go back in.”

     Al nodded appreciatively. He was hoping he’d say that. But if he’d asked, if he’d prepared himself…he would’ve. As long as he knew what he was in for, he’d be able to keep himself together. He could handle being with a body for a bit if he had some forewarning; it was just the element of surprise that turned his stomach inside out. Still…he was glad he didn’t have to.

     Sam tightened his mouth to prepare for breaking the news of what they’d found, although he suspected Al probably had an inkling already. “It looks like she might not’ve killed herself,” he told him, “It might be murder.”

     “And lemme guess. We’ve gotta track down who did it?”

     “Correct. Ziggy places the chances of that at 88.2%.” Both of them jumped. They were so absorbed in the conversation, they hadn’t even heard the Imaging Chamber open. Gooshie approached them, appropriately solemn given the circumstances. But he was glad to’ve missed the part with the corpse too.

     Sam ran his hand down his face, full of self-condemnation. “Wrong. We’re here to not save someone…again.”

     Al’s gaze shifted toward him. Now was not the time for a pity party. “We can’t save everyone, Sam,” he said gently. He pushed the afterimage of the body out of his mind. “Some things are just meant to happen.”

     Sam gave him a reproachful look. It was a crummy answer, but they’d had this argument too many times already. “Tell us what we need to know, Gooshie.”

     “Y-Yes, Dr. Beckett.” Gooshie inclined his head and lifted the handlink. Even outside of the apartment and decades in the future, this environment made him uneasy. “It’s November 6, 1982, and you’re police officers in the NYPD; you’ve been partners for five years. Dr. Beckett, you’re Derek Bowman; Admiral Calavicci, you’re Brandon Stokes. And you’re here to...”

     “Solve a murder,” Sam finished.

     “Yes, but…that’s not all of it.” Gooshie scratched at his mustache nervously. His image flickered for a moment, as it sometimes happened with their iffy connection.

     Al felt a twinge in his head again. This leap was stressing him out.

     “There was a piece of torn clothing found at the scene,” Gooshie continued, beady eyes bugging out, “and that cast doubt not only on Victoria Hershey’s death, but three other alleged suicides that occurred in the last two months. They suspected they all shared the same perpetrator.” He lowered the handlink anxiously. This was a terrible job for someone who hated being the bearer of bad news.

     Sam and Al gave him their full attention now. Sam worriedly stepped closer. “You mean we’re…we’re dealing with a serial killer?”

     Reluctantly, Gooshie nodded yes. “When that evidence was found, the killing stopped. They assumed the killer felt they were getting too close; they were never caught.”

     Sam rubbed his hands over his thighs in deep thought. Leaping perplexed him sometimes. “If we’re here to catch them, then why did we leap in after the murders stopped?”

     “Because the victims need justice,” Al said grimly. He was staring at the floor, hands in his pockets, considering what he’d like to do to whoever this sicko was. Justice didn’t seem enough.

     “…and it’ll give their loved ones closure,” Gooshie pointed out with an unassuming shrug. He ducked his head and focused on the handlink.

    Sam began to feel guilty for adding even more negativity to the situation. Of course he thought these were worthwhile goals. He just wished they hadn’t needed doing in the first place. He sighed and softened up. “Does Ziggy have any clues as to who the murderer might be?”

     “Sorry, it’s still too early.” Gooshie opened up the Imaging Chamber and stepped inside. “She’s going to run some more scenarios and I’ll get back to you two.” He stopped with his hand over the button, unsure of what to say for a moment. “Er—be careful.”

     Sam grinned tightly. “Thanks, Gooshie.”

     The door clunked shut.

     Al was still studying the floor, thoughts adrift. While he was certainly looking better, there was no denying this leap in had left him shaken up. Sam leaned in to face him. “Hey. You going to be alright?”

     Al let out a deep breath and lifted his head. “Yeah. Let’s just nail this nozzle, huh?”

     Sam had no problem agreeing to that.

\-------

     The photos of four smiling women were spread out on Bowman’s desk: One of them was Victoria Hershey, the other three were Sophia Landon, Emily Quigg, and Sadie Walsh, the other poor souls who had fallen victim to their mystery person. Inside their folders were gruesome photos of the crime scenes, and Sam held open one of them now. Al, however, wasn’t much for the pictures and had avoided those and stuck to the reports. Both of them were searching for clues that perhaps Bowman and Stokes had missed, but neither of them had come up with anything yet.

     They were women with no seeming connection other than the proximity between them: they all lived in the same ten mile radius. But they were different body types, ages, lifestyles. None of them knew each other. And they all committed suicide, except they didn’t.

     Sam was feeling sick looking at these photos; he compared them to the happy pictures on the desk. None of them knew what horrible end they’d come to. Who were these women before this, before they were numbers in a body count? He’d likely never know.

     “We’re looking for a guy,” Al said.

     “What makes you say that?”

     “Well he’s gotta be pretty strong to overtake them like that, right?”

     “You’ve seen enough leaps to know women are just as capable,” Sam said softly into his folder, leaning back in his chair. He looked up. “But statistically, you’re right. Most serial killers are men.”

     “Exactly.” Al smacked his report onto the table and shuddered. “Oh I don’t like this leap at all, Sam. It gives me the heebie jeebies. Some monster killed at least four women and he’s out there walking around with the rest of society.”

     “Not for much longer,” said Sam resolutely.

     A familiar whistle. Pitts stopped mid-stroll, eyes skimming over the photos. “Wow, there’s some babes in there. You two putting together a calendar?” He wagged his eyebrows.

     Sam glowered at the callous remarks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

     “Hey, this is Homicide,” Pitts replied with a shrug, backing away, “If I cried over every dead body I saw, I’d be a basket case.”

     “Well you can keep your comments to yourself,” Sam said icily. He picked up another folder and tried to ignore him before he said something he regretted.

     Pitts rolled his eyes. “Pfft. Fine, whatever, princess.” He leaned forward onto the desk, a little too close to Al, who distanced himself with disgust. This was the first conversation he was privy to with this guy and he wasn’t winning him over. “But just so you know, you’re under a microscope right now.” He jerked his head toward a nearby office. “Captain Eads is pissed about your case. She doesn’t think it looks good, her having a serial killer on the loose. She wants this solved fast.”

     Captain Eads was a stern-looking woman, red hair streaked with gray, and she could be seen through the blinds speaking to another officer. Her words were unheard but the agitation was clear in her body language. She looked up at them momentarily, her gaze frigid, and then turned her attention back to the officer. She didn’t seem like someone who you wanted having you on their bad side.

     Pitts snorted. “Man, she can be a bitch. Like permanent PMS with her, I swear.”

     “So what’s your excuse?” Al piped up, stone-faced. He’d had his fill of this slimeball.

     A pause. Pitts wasn’t so amused anymore. He left without another word.

\-------

     Captain Sherry Eads was, in fact, very pissed off. She was already under pressure being the first female captain in this precinct, and now in her first three months there was a serial killer. If she didn’t catch this bastard and quick, her critics would use this against her. She was incompetent, she couldn’t hack it, a woman couldn’t lead as well as a man. They were all waiting for her to fail.

     But Bowman and Stokes were her best men. Their records spoke for themselves. If anyone could solve this case, it would be them. But…she couldn’t give anyone an inch here. Without that fire under their asses, this case would be gathering dust while the noose wrapped tighter and tighter around her neck. She couldn’t show them anything but demanding fury...even if she did like them.

     Except for Pitts. She hated that guy’s guts.  

     “Lee.” The officer stopped in the doorway. “Tell Pitts to get his ass back to work.”

     “You got it, Captain.” Lee left to do exactly that.

     Eads narrowed her eyes through the blinds, a watchful hawk. Like it or not, she was going to get some respect around here.

     And then, she began to feel peculiar. Light, woozy, like her mind was beginning to float away. A tingling sensation prickled its way across her skin. Strange, it wasn’t like being sick...it was something completely alien. It would’ve been terrifying if she’d had the time. She felt like something was pulling her away, dissolving her atoms, transporting her elsewhere, and then—a flash of red light, and, before she could comprehend it, she was gone.

     In her place stood Sam Beckett.

     Not the Sam Beckett of this timeline. A paradox Sam Beckett, a person who shouldn’t exist but did. After the evil leapers had kidnapped Sam at 16, he’d spent the next thirty years being forced to commit heinous acts in their name—and oh, he was good at it. Until one day in 1957, when he’d met Al Calavicci and his whole world changed. He’d presented him a way out, but instead he, along with that timeline’s version of Al, had become stranded anomalies. Once again in the vile clutches of the demons who had held him captive for so long, his sole goal now was vengeance on the Sam and Al of this timeline.

     Wherever the hell they were. It was hard to get revenge when one of your enemies was stranded in time and the other was protected in a top secret time travel facility in the future. Another cruel joke fate had played on him.

     So in the meanwhile, he had a job to do, and that was also difficult to accomplish when leaping put a bunch of holes in your brain. But that was what Observers were for.

     Right on cue, Calavicci opened up the rainbow-hued door to their prison and stepped inside. “Evening, Sam,” he greeted him, pressing a few buttons on their triangular handlink and shutting the door. He straightened the lapels of his deep purple jacket and took in Beckett’s shoulder pads and pencil skirt. “You’re looking…buxom.”

     Beckett looked down, just now noticing his attire. “Oh, damn!” he exclaimed with irritation, “I’m a woman.”

     “I dunno, cinch in the waist, add a tie…could work.” Calavicci smirked teasingly through his cigar. He was in an unusually cheery mood and it was infuriating.

     Beckett glared. “You live to torture me.”

     “What else am I gonna do?” Calavicci said with a shrug, his eyes twinkling darkly, “I torture _you_ , they torture _us_ …it’s all we got goin’.”

     Maybe after 30 years he wouldn’t find their situation quite so amusing, but for now, it was all they had to keep themselves together. “Tell me what I’ve leaped here for, Polyanna.”

     “Okay, let’s get down to business.” Calavicci took out his handlink, plunking in a few keys. “You’ve leaped into Captain Sherry Eads of the NYPD, 1982. And there’s been a string of murders all within the last few months, only now they’ve suddenly dried up.”

     “Don’t tell me. I’m here to give our killer a higher score.”

     “Bingo.” Calavicci stuck the handlink back in his pocket, pacing the room. “Should be simple; just make sure you get rid of the possible evidence and let our buddy do the rest. Easy peasy.” He squinted in thought. “Funny they never caught the guy. He must do good work.”

     “I’ll have to ask him for some tips,” Beckett joked. He leaned against the desk and picked up Eads’s name plaque. She must’ve worked hard to earn this title. As soon as he was done with her, she’d probably be back to desk duty—or in jail, depending on how badly he screwed her over. “Does Lothos know who it is?”

     “Not yet,” Calavicci answered, “but we’re workin’ on it. In the meantime, enjoy the, er…scenery.” He glanced at the dimly lit, somewhat depressing office. Even their quarters at the Project were less crypt-like than this. His gaze traveled along the slightly-dusty window sill to the blinds, then the rest of the station, and crept along to— “Hooooly shit!” His eyes popped out of his head and he ducked out of sight.

     Extremely confused as to why a hologram would need to hide, Beckett scrunched up his face and closed in. “What the hell are you doing?”

     “Ya-da-da-da-da! Stay out of the window!” Calavicci waved his arms frantically and Beckett, now even more puzzled, slid behind the wall. “You can’t let them see you.”

     “Let who see me?” Beckett peeked cautiously around the corner.

     And then his eyes fell on them, and his blood began to boil. The Sam Beckett and Al Calavicci of this timeline were here.

     His nails dug into the wall so tightly little half-moon marks were indented in the paint.  

     And then this blood mixed with adrenaline, a war of red hot excitement, the enraged exhilaration pounding into his ribs. He smirked. He didn’t just have one of them. He had them both, right here, and fragile enough for his furious hands to break into a million pieces. Except…

     They wouldn’t allow him. Not when they had plans. He’d gotten so excited he’d forgotten what they’d told him. If he killed the other Sam Beckett…they’d make sure he stayed alive a good, long time. His vision flashed red. It wasn’t fair.

     But that didn’t mean he still couldn’t make them suffer. He was astounded at their good fortune.

     “It’s them.”

     “Can you believe it? Of all the places and times to leap to, we land straight on those two!” Calavicci chuckled and began to dig in his pocket for the handlink again. “It’s like Christmas!”

     “What the hell is the other Al doing leaping?”

     “Probably some stupid mix up on their part; I think the two of them switched places at one point.” Calavicci shrugged. “Who cares? Now we’ve got ‘em here all to ourselves. They’ll never see us comin’.”

     A pause. “…so why are we hiding?”

     Calavicci screwed up his mouth and breathed through his nose impatiently. He held up the handlink. “ _Because_ ,” he said, “you and I are tuned in to each other’s brainwaves, which means we’re tuned in to _their_ brainwaves, which means they’re tuned in to _our_ brainwaves. If we can see them, they can see us.”

     “ _Shit!_ ” Beckett pulled at his chin worriedly. This could really throw a wrench into their plans.

     “Not to worry,” Calavicci assured him, “I should be able to use Lothos to scramble the signal from their computer and we’ll be back in the clear. So just gimme a minute.” He began to press more buttons on the shrieking handlink. He smacked it, hard.

\-------

     “…we should ask Ziggy about the flannel; she might be able to find something forensics in 1982 couldn’t.” Sam held up another folder close to his face, lost in thought.

     Al, listening intently, was suddenly assaulted with a shooting headache, bad enough to make him physically recoil in reaction. Jeez louise! What was that about?

\-------

     “Hang on. Did you see that?”

     Calavicci looked up from the handlink. “What?”

     Beckett furrowed his brows and inched closer to the glass, the gears turning in his mind. Maybe he was just seeing things, but he had to be sure. “Do whatever you just did again.”

     Keeping his eyes on their counterparts this time, Calavicci complied. And as soon as he pressed in that sequence the second time, he could see Al react in pain and grip his head.

     “Oh my god…”

     Their jaws dropped. The pieces clicking into place, they faced each other happily.

     “His chip’s still active,” Beckett concluded, stunned, “He’s still connected to their computer.”

     Calavicci’s mouth curled up wickedly. “Which means we can jam the signal.”

     Stepping closer to the window and pulling at the blinds, Beckett chuckled as he watched their unsuspecting prey. What started as a fairly standard, tedious leap was twisting in some wonderfully unexpected directions. “What do you say we have some fun this leap?”

\-------

     Derek Bowman lived in a modest apartment for New York, not rundown but about what Sam would expect on a cop’s salary. While it wasn’t extravagant, his bedroom offered a gorgeous view: across the street was an old clock tower, and the entire window was taken up by a giant, stained glass clock face. The colors were a work of art, casting rainbow shards of light across the bedroom floor.

     It reminded him of leaping. Each color in the collage was a person whose life was touched, and they all coalesced into Sam’s loop.

     Sam sat in the dark for a while and admired the beauty. It was rare for a leap to offer him such a quiet moment of contemplation, even if just for a while, and it helped calm him down after today’s miserable start. He lifted his hand and twisted his fingers in the light, letting the rainbow hues reflect off of his skin.

     Someone knocked on the door.

\-------

      When Sam opened it, he was greeted by the sight of a curious 2 year old boy. A pair of arms around him led to a woman, a little more stressed than he was, who shook a few stray dreadlocks out of her face and gave a weary, gap-toothed grin. “Oh good, you’re here.”

     “Yeah, I, uh…just got back from work.”

     “I never know when you’re working anymore,” she sighed, moving the toddler to her hip and reaching into her bag, “They got you going all sorts of crazy hours.”

     The little boy’s interested stare turned into a grin, and he pointed at Bowman’s name tag. “Dada.”

     “Mmhmm, Patrick, that’s your daddy,” the woman murmured as she continued rooting through her bag.

     Patrick shook his head. “No.”

     “No?” The woman laughed. “Well who is he? Oscar the Grouch?”

     Sam momentarily panicked at the reveal—after all, Patrick could see him—but luckily toddlers said contradictory things all the time. And actually, Sam was more thrown by the fact he had a wife and child. He hadn’t seen anything in the apartment that clued him in to the fact anyone else lived here.

     “Oh here we go.” His wife took out a sheet of paper, handing it to him. “This is the grocery list for tomorrow. You gonna be okay with me dropping him off same time?”

     “Uh—yeah,” Sam answered uncertainly. Was she going somewhere?

     “Good. That gives me some time—my mother’s been bugging me about going to see this new play about cats…” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I dunno. I figure I should go with her before it disappears. Who knows how long it’ll last?”

     Sam hid his grin and shrugged. “I don’t know, you might have a few years…”

     “Yeah, right. You know, I wouldn’t have to make these lists if you just ate healthy,” she said, jokingly stern, “I wouldn’t have to worry about Patrick eating a bunch of candy and frozen pizza whenever you have him.” Maybe not wife then. Ex-wife? She laughed. “I swear, it’s like we’re still married sometimes.” Bingo.

     Sam chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, heh. It’s a good thing I have you to look out for me.”

     She pointed her nose down. “I ain’t doin’ it for you.” Sam snorted. “Anyway, I gotta get going. It’s past _someone’s_ bedtime.” She looked down at Patrick, who shook his head.

     “No!”

     Sam leaned down close to him, very serious. “You know, I heard a rumor if certain little boys don’t go to bed on time, they get a visit from…the tickle monster!” He lightly tickled his feet, and Patrick squealed and bounced up and down with delight.

     “Is that my grandson I hear?” An older, balding black man came up from behind them, cheerfully waving at Patrick.

     The woman’s smile immediately wiped off of her face. “Jeffrey.” She adjusted Patrick on her hip and cleared her throat. “Well, we’re gonna get going. See you tomorrow, Derek.” And they disappeared down the hall.

     His father made his way inside, frowning. “What was Nancy doing here?”

     “She was dropping off a grocery list,” Sam answered, staring down the hall and wondering about the cold exchange. He shut the door and turned around as Jeffrey was opening up the fridge and taking out a beer.

     He humphed. “She doesn’t trust you to be able to feed your own son. I’m telling you, that woman hasn’t ever treated you right, before or after you were married.”

     Sam shrugged. “I think the list is actually pretty helpful.”

     Another snort. Jeffrey sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Apparently he was expected. “Well, enough about that. I came here to spend some time with my son.”

     Sam grinned. He might as well go with it. Taking a beer out of the fridge for himself, he sat down on the couch next to him. George Jefferson danced his way across the screen as the audience burst into laughter.

     Jeffrey looked at Sam and crinkled his brow with concern. “You look tired, boy. You want me to go?”

     “No, it’s—” Sam sighed, setting his beer down. He pressed his fingertips together. “It was a rough day. It’s this case I’m working.”

     “More of those suicides?” Sam nodded. His father pursed his lips solemnly. “Damn shame. You gonna be okay?”

     “Oh yeah.” Sam grinned tightly. “It’s part of my job.”

     Jeffrey placed a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re doing the Lord’s work. Keeping these streets clean for my grandson.”

     Sam smiled humbly. He hoped so. “Thanks…Dad.”

     “No matter how down you’re feelin’, remember I’ve got your back.”

\-------

     Al’s new living situation smelled like cat pee, which was weird because he was fairly certain Stokes didn’t own a cat. Located in a shady part of town, the apartment offered thin walls, dirty laundry on the floor, and old beer bottles. Al hadn’t heard anything about his family, but his detective skills told him Brandon was a bachelor and had been for a long time.

     He checked him out in the mirror and it was evident from his face he’d done some hard living. A craggy black man, dark circles under his eyes, a little on the thin side. Gray hair was starting to pop in but that might not’ve been due to age. Everything Al had gathered about him so far told him this: he was a mess.

     Well, no food in the fridge, but at least there was booze. A true set of priorities. Al groaned in disgust and shut the door.

     He was already in a rotten mood. This day had started out about as well as cancer, and it took a dive when he’d gotten that miserable headache. This was the worst. Maybe the stress was getting to him. He’d been having headaches like these infrequently since he’d started leaping, but never one that was this persistent. And actually, it felt like it was getting worse. Yipes, he hadn’t had one this bad since he’d married his sixth—no, fifth wife.

     Six? Why did he think six? He’d only been married five times…this time around, anyway. He didn’t think much about the timeline where there’d been six, actually. It’d lasted about a week, between Sharon and Maxine—and had ended when her family found out. Huh. What a thing to get mixed up for a moment.

     He laid down on the creaky bed and blew out a breath. This was the first time he’d been able to really get away from the nastiness of this leap, and yet he couldn’t erase the image of Victoria Hershey from his mind. He closed his eyes, but she was still there, her hair floating around her still frame in the murky water.

     He shuddered. This was his first time…leaping into a murder. Hrm, he shouldn’t think “first” time. _Only_ time. He’d never liked them when he was an Observer either, but it was even worse in person. But he knew that already. He never wanted to see another dead body again, never wanted to see those eyes, to smell the decaying flesh, to feel as helpless and insignificant as—

     He opened his eyes. No. He wouldn’t go back there.

     That’s it, he was gonna kick his butt back into the now! Now was what was important, because now he actually had the power to do something about it. That’s why they’d leaped in, after all. They were gonna make sure that whoever did this was put away forever, and those women were worth fighting for. Time to pull himself up by the bootstraps, help Sam, and do right by them.

     Before all the heroics though, a shower. If the bathroom was clean enough. Jeez, he hoped so.


	2. Chapter 2

     If Beckett was being honest, he’d say he was glad this leap didn’t involve him doing any of the dirty work. Because that freed up his time to focus on what he really wanted, and that was see their counterparts suffer. Although now he was in a unique position, because this time he really had access to his other self. And there was too much unfinished business between them.

     The first and only time he’d encountered this Sam Beckett was when they’d merged together in 1977. He’d had access to all of his inner thoughts, his fears, his memories—and he’d very nearly pushed them all deep inside and made him disappear. It was only fair. Without Sam’s time machine, Beckett would never exist. The evil project would never have seen him as a threat or stolen him from time. He never would have been taken away from everything he loved, been forced to do the things he’d done. This was all the Doctor Beckett’s fault.

     Again he tried to steal his life when he’d been sent into Project Quantum Leap posing as his other self, but that had proved impossible. He was foolish to think he could just take his place, pretend nothing had ever happened. No matter how badly he’d wanted it. Like everything else in his life, it had twisted up, unhinged its jaws, and tried to eat him alive. No Donna, no Sammy Jo, no Tom, no Al. No escape. He nearly destroyed their facility, only to find the files he’d stolen were unreadable.

     Lothos had been furious with them. Particularly at Calavicci for leaping in without permission. He’d been kept in the Disciplinary Chamber for a week. Beckett would never forget how he looked afterwards, like a corpse. But that was nothing compared to their punishment for failing their mission.

     One small problem with their current leap. They weren’t allowed to kill this Sam: Lothos had plans for him. And that filled Beckett with unexpressed rage; if he disobeyed, there would be dire consequences. His only solace was that whatever they were planning, it was going to hurt like hell. But if he’d had the opportunity, if he weren’t kept under the Project’s watchful eye, he would end him here. Slowly and gladly.

     But that wasn’t the only way to get to him, because Lothos said nothing about Al Calavicci.

     Sam Beckett had created his miserable existence, but Al Calavicci was the one who had made him believe he was more than that. He’d told him he was a hero, that if only he trusted him he’d get him out—and he’d left him in that time stream, the same monster he’d always been. No, worse. A monster who thought he was human.

     He remembered how Al treated him when he thought he was the other Sam, how he’d pretended he was his friend and comforted him and gotten him to play the music he loved. Gave him hope again, when he hadn’t felt it for so long. Forgiveness when he’d never received it. He’d met Doctor Beckett’s wife, who saw him as more of a saint than a man, his daughter who idolized the person she didn’t know was her father, his brother who…

     He had Tom. For one brief, shining moment he had Tom. The thought reached deep inside and gutted him to know he’d probably never see him again. He missed him all the time.

     But none of that was his anymore, was it? It ceased to be his from the moment the timeline split—no, from the moment Doctor Beckett conceived of this notion in the first place.

     He was so damn tired of being compared to him. He was no hero. He was the vile creature who spent thirty years putting wrong what once went right. And he was going to do what he did best. And the other Sam, the one who so piously thought he was the better half, he was going to watch his best friend die in agony. It was enough to make Beckett’s heart flutter.

     “Baby, are you coming to bed?” Sherry Eads’s husband stood tiredly in the bedroom doorway.

     “In a minute.”

\-------

     Work started early for Sam and Al, which meant they weren’t fully awake yet when they entered the station that morning. So it was straight to the coffeemaker in the break room to try and get that extra “pep” they needed, so to speak. This was going to be a long day, and it had just started.

     Al was just bringing his coffee cup to his lips when the Imaging Chamber opened up and startled him into burning his mouth. “Oh c’mon, Gooshie! Don’t surprise us like that!” He looked to Sam at his right, who thankfully hadn’t picked up his coffee yet. “Did I ever do that to you, Sam?”

     “All the time.”

     “Oh.” He screwed up his mouth. “Did you ever get used to it?”

     “Nope.” Sam took a careful sip of his own coffee.

     Al’s shoulders sagged. Leaping was more of a bummer every day.

     “Sorry to interrupt, but this is really important,” Gooshie cut in, holding up the handlink. The two of them gave him their full attention. “According to Ziggy, there’s another murder tonight!”

     Sam choked on his coffee; now _his_ mouth was burnt. “What?” he croaked.

     “You told us the killing stopped after last night!”

     “I-It did!” Gooshie said defensively, shaking his head and screwing up his eyebrows, “But things have changed! Now the flannel has been dismissed as evidence. No evidence…”

     “…no reason to stop killing,” Sam finished, puzzled.

     “We must’ve thrown things off somehow by leaping in,” Al concluded. Great, they were making things worse! His body was tense knowing another life was in their hands.

     “What he said,” Gooshie agreed, “Ziggy puts it at 67.5%, but she’s not exactly sure what you did. Whatever happened, it affected Captain Eads. She was the one who made the decision.”

     Sam was already on his way out the door, determined to get to the bottom of this. How could she ignore something so obvious? Suddenly realizing he was gone, Al jumped to catch up.

\-------

     “Why was my evidence dismissed in the Hershey case?” Sam demanded as he entered Eads’s office unannounced. The captain, seated in her chair, glanced up from her paperwork. Al stumbled inside and ran into Sam. He shrugged at Sam apologetically.

     With a deadpan stare, Eads ignored their clumsy entrance and folded her hands on top of her desk. “It was irrelevant.”

     “Irrelevant?” Sam repeated, face screwed up, “It was obviously something she tore off of her attacker! It was covered in blood!”

     “It was covered in blood because she killed herself, Bowman.” Eads got up from her seat and placed her hands on the desk. “And for your information, a shirt was found in Mrs. Hershey’s bedroom with matching fabric and a piece missing. It belonged to her.”

     Sam and Al paused and glanced at each other, dumbstruck. That didn’t make any sense. “I didn’t see any shirt there,” Sam told her.

     “It’s in the photos and Officer Pitts’s report.”

     “Impossible,” Al said, “We looked through them all yesterday and didn’t see it mentioned anywhere.”

     “Obviously you didn’t look hard enough.” She held up a folder confidently.

     Something didn’t add up. For a moment, neither Sam nor Al could think of anything to say.

     He was sure that wasn’t there before. Sam had to read this for himself. “Lemme see.” He reached for the folder, nearly brushing against her hand—when she suddenly pulled back as if he was on fire.

     Sam paused at the strange reaction. There was a peculiar tenseness in the room he couldn’t quite explain. Why did she seem scared of him?

     Eads quickly regained her cool, setting the folder on the desk and sliding it toward him. Was she a germophobe? The tenseness eased but still remained. “You’re welcome to it. It’s your case.” Cautiously, Sam took the folder.

     “We’re gonna read this carefully,” Al said with suspicion.

     “See that you do.” Eads sat in her seat again, scrutinizing him closely. “And try and get some more sleep tonight, Stokes. You keep burning the midnight oil, you’re gonna go up in a blaze.”

     Al sucked in a breath and froze. The words vibrated down his body and rooted him to the spot, just for a moment, and planted him back in palm fronds and mud.

     Sam was heading out the door, unaware of this reaction. Al was able to remove himself from his thoughts and follow.

     “Oh, and Bowman?” They stopped. Eads stared him down, eyelids lowered menacingly. “Touch me and you’re fired.”

\-------

     “I don’t get it.” Al scratched his head and stared at the photo from Hershey’s bedroom: sure enough, a flannel shirt crumpled on the floor. “If this came from one of Victoria’s shirts, why didn’t it come up in the original timeline? And why would our guy get scared if it didn’t even belong to him?”

     “I swear this wasn’t there yesterday, Al,” Sam said, shaking his head, “And we sure as hell didn’t see this in the photos either.” He grasped at the air in frustration. “Someone must’ve— _planted_ it later and snuck these pictures in.”

     Al lowered his chin, raising a dubious eyebrow. “But then that would mean…the killer is in the precinct.”

     “Exactly. Maybe the person who wrote this report.”

     They looked down at the folder grimly. Was Pitts their murderer?

\-------

     “That was close,” Beckett spat out, frustrated at himself. He closed the blinds and sat down huffily on the desk, rubbing his hands over his face.

     “You’re tellin’ me,” Calavicci agreed, leaving a trail of smoke through the room, “If he’d touched you, the whole thing would’ve been blown!”

     “It was stupid. I need to be more careful.”

     Calavicci swiveled his head back, really noticing Beckett’s self-disapproving appearance. He was taking this harder than he needed to. “It was an easy mistake.”

     “Mistakes mean failure.”

     “Hey.” He waited for Beckett to look up. “Remember who you’re talking to. I’m not them.” He rolled his eyes upwards as a subtle hint about their overlords. “I’m not gonna get on your ass for every little thing, you know.”

     “I’m not doing this for them,” Beckett responded harshly, getting to his feet. He peered through the blinds again, focused on the enemy outside. “I’m doing this for me.”

     “…and me.” Calavicci added quietly.

     “…and you.”

     Calavicci had not been at the Project for as long as Beckett had, not even close. But he understood completely where he was coming from. He knew the feeling of betrayal, of abandonment, the utter hopelessness of being trapped in the void. The bitter resignation to being a professional ruiner of lives. He might not have been there as long as Beckett, but that didn’t mean this was even his first time at the mercy of someone else’s whim. It seemed he’d spent most of his life moving from one captivity to another: the orphanage, Vietnam, leaping with Alia, the void, and now this. Just for a day, he wanted to know what it was like to be a free man again.

     And none of this would have happened if this Sam Beckett hadn’t decided to mess with time. Yes, he knew what it felt like to want blood on his hands, always, the blood of two very specific people. He had no love for their counterparts either.

     Except, that feeling had faded somewhat. Oh, he still wanted them dead—that hadn’t and wouldn’t change. But he didn’t fantasize about killing them as much, was no longer consumed every waking moment. Over time it became more of a project, a common goal, than a product of deep, undiluted loathing.

     And the more he thought about it, he realized the thing that appealed to him most was how close it made him to his Sam.

     “We’ve still got them right where we want them, remember?” he reminded him with a smirk. He approached him and ended with a skip. “Everything is going according to plan. Trust me.”

     At last, Beckett gave a small smile. “I do.”

     Calavicci paused. Then he lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “Then what’s the problem?” Beckett snorted in response, choosing not to answer. Calavicci walked toward the desk and pointed at something he just now noticed. “Hey, how old do you think this donut is? It looked stale even when you leaped in.”

     “I dunno.” Beckett picked it up and held it toward him. “You wanna try it?”

     “Ugh.” Calavicci crinkled his nose and backed up. “No thanks. I’ll stick to whatever they’re feeding us here.”

     “I think I’d rather take this.” Their food at the Project was sparse and the quality depended on how many privileges they’d earned. But even at it’s best, it was questionable.

     Calavicci narrowed his eyes and cocked his head reminiscently. “You know, the one thing I miss about being a leaper is the food. It was a new cuisine practically every day.”

     “Even the ones you’d rather have never tried.”

     “You’re just sayin’ that because you thought Indian food was too spicy.”

     Beckett leaned in sternly. “ _That_ was torture.”

     “You have no taste buds.”

     “No shit! They were burned off by all that curry!”

     They laughed. It felt terrific; so rarely could they be so open. At their Project, they had to sneak around to have time alone simply to commiserate. Leaping could offer some reprieve from their day to day life, but it was deeply rooted in misery. Calavicci craved the moments where they could simply enjoy each other’s company. His chuckles dying down, he looked at Beckett, but he was checking the window again.

     Strategizing. Fantasizing.

     He couldn’t keep his mind off of the goal for too long. Which meant that was what Calavicci was focused on now too. He poked his head through the wall. Their doubles were dutifully rereading the files on this case, going around in circles trying to figure out what they’d done. They’d never guess their killer had outside help until it was too late.

     A pleasant thought. They were gonna really _hate_ their little surprise that night.

\-------

     The next victim was, oddly enough, located in Bowman’s building. At 8:17 that night, Heather Goss was found by her husband hung in their bedroom closet, which meant she died sometime after she was last seen at 6. The husband swore up and down she’d had no prior suicidal tendencies, no warning signs, and she was located within the same radius as the other victims—it all led suspiciously to their killer. And, if it turned out they were wrong, they’d still be saving a woman’s life. But Sam had a gut feeling this was definitely their guy, and he wanted to catch this creep tonight.

     Which meant a stakeout at Goss’s apartment. And since it was likely there would be a physical altercation, Al decided on being the lookout while Sam holed up in the apartment of a very confused and concerned Heather Goss. Definitely not the response of someone who had planned to kill herself.

     Oh, and it was November in New York and they’d just had a snow storm, which made Al very quickly regret this decision. While Sam was in a nice, heated apartment, he was freezing his butt off in the car. As he sipped his already-cold coffee, he huddled up next to the crummy heater, walkie talkie at his side, and squinted out into the white. This leap he had all the luck. Good grief, pretty soon his hot rod was gonna turn into a popsicle!

\-------

     “Would you like some more tea?”

     “No, thank you. It’s warm enough already.” Sam removed his jacket; the heat was a little too high for his liking actually. He smiled politely. “The cookies are good though.” Heather sure was nice. She had been very accommodating to the officers who had showed up out of nowhere, mostly on account of them protecting her. It was honestly one of the best stakeouts he’d been on, if he had to rank them. But he had to be on his guard because any minute now their suspect could show up. As he waited quietly and listened for either Al’s message or anything unusual, he thought over the case.

     They made sure to not tell anyone what they were doing. That way, if the killer was from the station they wouldn’t be tipped off. But that also meant they were alone with no backup, so if things got hairy, they were on their own. Not so unusual for them in their line of work. But hopefully the element of surprise would give them the upper hand. He kept his gun within easy reach. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it and the killer would give up quietly.

     So far their primary suspect was Harvey Pitts. Not only had he written the report with the mysteriously appearing shirt, but he definitely seemed to have an issue with women. And he had access to all of the crime scenes, meaning he would be able to cover his tracks well. Of course, if the photo was taken by Brown, the forensic photographer, he _too_ would be at all of the crime scenes. They didn’t know much about him.

     Hopefully, they’d find out the culprit soon.

\-------

     Al’s head was killing him. It was bad enough he had to deal with the cold and a serial killer, there had to be this headache on top of it? Guh. He pressed his head gently against the frozen glass of the car door. That helped a little.

     He didn’t want to admit it but he was a little spooked. A murderer running around in the middle of the night, and he and Sam were the only people in his way. But he and Sam had guns, foreknowledge, and Sam had that nifty flying noodle kick that would protect them, probably. Just the whole leap was nasty business and he couldn’t wait until it was over. The only upside is that tonight, they’d actually be able to save someone, and he never got tired of doing that.

     His mind kept going back to what Captain Eads had said. _You keep burning the midnight oil, you’re gonna go up in a blaze._

     The last time he’d heard those words, they’d come from Keegan’s mouth. He’d known him in the Navy. The next day, his plane was shot down. There were no survivors.

     It sent chills up his spine hearing that again. It had been so _specific_ , he could hear his exact voice, feel the boots on his feet, envision the exact spot where he’d been standing. He never forgot it. Keegan had been one of his first friends he lost in that stupid war, and it had made him feel so powerless. It threw him for a loop being taken back there in this time and place. And he didn’t know it back then, but they had been eerily prophetic last words.

     It was an odd coincidence, but Eads saying it didn’t _mean_ anything, probably, maybe, actually… He just didn’t like the feeling it gave him, is all. And it sure felt like bad luck.

     Someone knocked on his window and he yelped in fright, reaching frantically for his gun. How could he stop paying attention?! Leave it to him to be the lookout and get caught with his pants down!

     But when he looked outside, his fear turned to annoyance. His eyelids lowered and he sighed, rolling down the window to let a gust of freezing cold air in. 

     “Evening, Officer Stokes. Can I get a statement about your current case?” It was the reporter he’d seen at Hershey’s apartment—Mahoney, someone had called her. What the hell was she doing out here? Had she followed them? He’d heard of following a lead, but this was ridiculous.

     Al looked down at the recorder she’d shoved through his window with distaste. “No, you may not.” He started to roll the window back up, but she kept her arm inside to block it.

     “Wait wait wait! Just one little sound byte, that’s all I ask!”

     “This is a stake out, lady!” Al yelled, aggravating his headache, as he tried to shove her back out of his car. She was nuts! He was painfully aware of how distracting she’d be if the killer showed up—not to mention the potential danger she’d be placed in. “Get lost!”

     “Does this in any way connect to the death of Victoria Hershey, or any of the other murders this month?”

     “I already told ya, I don’t have anything to—” He frowned. “Wait a second, how do you know these are murders?”

     She shrugged. “Just a hunch. So you _are_ confirming they’re being investigated as homicides?”

     “Listen, lady, you’d better get outta here before—” Then it hit him like a brick to the face, a headache so strong he fell back in his seat and saw stars. He groaned and covered his eyes. If he weren’t sitting in a car, he’d be flat on his butt right now! “Ohhhhh…!”

     Mahoney was squinting her beady little eyes at him suspiciously, probably wondering if there was a story in this. The vulture. “Before what?”

     “Before…uh…” Before what? What _were_ they doing out here? The murders had stopped after they leaped in. No one else was in any danger, and all they had to do was figure out who—Goss! Goss, they had to protect Heather Goss! She was gonna get the noose tonight! That was the timeline then, this was the timeline now!

     He moaned again and let his head fall back. It was hard to think straight.

     “Officer Stokes, are you alright?”

     “Just go already! You’re not getting a story outta me!”

     “But—”

     At last, Al thrust open the car door and made his way out. This woman wasn’t gonna leave unless someone made her, and he was in no mood to deal with this right now. Placing himself square in her face, he threatened, “Listen lady, you’re impeding an investigation. And if this guy gets away because you wouldn’t take a hike, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible! I’ll make sure the department comes at you with everything we got! You hear me?”

     She heard him, alright. And she was not happy. She made a big show of shoving the recorder into her large purse. “I’ll have you know, I have all of that on tape. You’ll be hearing from me soon.” And with that, she huffily stomped her way through the snow.

\-------

     _Clunk-whoosh!_ Gooshie rushed into Goss’s living room and frantically searched for Sam. “Dr. Beckett! Dr. Beckett!”

     Sam rocketed to his feet and jogged over. “Over here. What is it, Gooshie?”

     “You must’ve changed history, because now the victim’s changed!”

     “What?! Who is it?”

     “There’s no time! You’ve gotta get outside!” Gooshie jammed his finger onto the handlink and popped out. With no time to lose, Sam followed orders and bolted for the door.

     “What’s happening?” asked a frightened Heather.

     “Stay inside!”

\-------

     Gasping for breath after running down three flights of stairs, Sam burst out of the apartment complex and immediately slid on the frozen front steps. He managed to catch himself on the railing, but not until after he’d banged his leg good. Fearing he’d tip off their suspect, he held back a yell—only to hear Al screaming nearby.

     “Al!” He yanked himself up and charged toward the sound, rounding the side of the building and hoping Al wasn’t the next victim. When he finally reached his friend, he skidded to a stop and his breath left him.

     There was Al, fallen in the snow, staring in horror at a woman hung in a tree.

     Gooshie stood nearby, casting them both a worried look as they watched, transfixed. There was silence now except for their icy breaths.

\-------

     “Her name is—was, uh…Jennifer Ainsworth. She lived at the complex.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he watched the body bag being loaded into the ambulance. Gooshie had given him enough information to pass as someone who knew Bowman’s neighbors.

     She’d just lived a couple of apartments down. He’d been right there. Damn it, how could they have let someone else die?! What went wrong?!

     “So you decided to go investigating without my say so and you still managed to miss this?” asked Captain Eads, arms crossed, “Tell me why I shouldn’t suspend you right now.”

     “Because we were right!” Sam said defensively. How could she argue they were suicides now? “Why would she hang herself outside in the snow like that? Someone murdered her!”

     “Who knows why anyone does anything?” Eads argued, shoulders raised. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And if there was a killer, why would you think they were going after Heather Goss?”

     Sam froze. He hadn’t thought of an excuse yet. “Uhhh…I’d noticed someone shady around her apartment.”

     “You didn’t mention this before. But don’t tell me. You can’t describe what they look like.”

     “Well…no.” It was lame, but it was all he had.

     The captain nodded, stepping closer to him. And for some reason Sam couldn’t quite place, he felt…something familiar there. A radiating anger over something else he didn’t know. Why did he feel like something else had happened between them?

     “You know what I think? I think if there _was_ a killer…it’d look mighty suspicious if you two somehow knew exactly where he was gonna strike.”

     Nervously, Sam pulled back a little. The last thing he needed was to put him and Al on the suspect list.

     “Look out for tomorrow’s paper: Negligent Police Let Five Women Die!” Like gum stuck to their shoe, Mahoney was back again, waving her recorder in the air triumphantly. Her smug look at Sam and the captain told them she thought she’d won something. “It’s gonna be a juicy story.”

     Eads stepped up real close, almost at a whisper. “You run a story on this ongoing investigation, we’ll bury you. I guarantee it.”

     Mahoney set her jaw. “I was simply a witness. You can’t stop me from telling what I saw, and that was your officers failing to save a woman’s life. Mark my words…I’m going to ruin you all.” And for the last time that night, she was gone.

     Eads watched her for a long time, pondering. She left without another word.

     “Isn’t that the third time already Candice Mahoney’s threatened to ruin you, Bowman?” Pitts asked as he passed by, shaking his head. Sam wondered what that meant, but Pitts was gone.

     Which left Sam and Al alone. Al, huddled in a blanket and seated on the front steps, had been silent the whole time. He’d been like that since finding the body, only speaking up to tell the captain the same thing he’d told Sam. But other than that, he’d been in his own world. Sam was becoming increasingly concerned with how hard he was taking this leap; even physically he was starting to look a little worse for the wear. He wondered how much of this Al could really take.

     “Some lookout I was, huh?” he finally said, looking up, “If I wasn’t distracted by that damn reporter, Jennifer would still be alive.”

     “You don’t know that.” Sam’s feet crunched through the snow with a slight limp. His leg was pretty badly bruised, but he’d be okay after a day or so. He still wasn’t clear on how all of this played out. “You’re sure you didn’t see anyone else?”

     “Sure I’m sure,” Al snapped, suddenly very touchy, “You don’t believe me?”

     “I didn’t say that.”

     After a pause, Al cooled off and massaged his temple.

     The familiar pops and whirs of Ziggy signaled them to Gooshie’s approach. He’d stuck around the whole time, fighting with the handlink to make any sort of sense of this. “I don’t know what to tell you guys. Ziggy says you being here must’ve changed the killer’s path and switched the victim. Which would mean the murders are random, but…doesn’t narrow down who it is.”

     “Unless…” Sam’s face lit up in thought.

     “Unless?”

     “What about Candice Mahoney?”

     Al quirked an eyebrow. “The reporter? I dunno, Sam…”

     “You said she’d left before you found the body, right?” asked Sam, his mind racing, “What if she went back into the apartments? And she was at every one of the crime scenes!”

     “And a serial killer would make a great story…” Al agreed, eyes wide. Hey, hadn’t they had a leap like that before?

     Gooshie, who had been pressing the handlink’s buttons like mad, gasped and lifted a finger in announcement. “Ah! You might have something, Dr. Beckett! According to Ziggy, Mrs. Mahoney has a history with Derek Bowman. Six years ago, she broke a story that ended up harming a case Bowman was working on. He complained to her paper and she was fired.”

     “That would explain why she’s got such a grudge against the department,” Al concluded.

     “It gives us something to go on,” said Sam intently, relieved to have a direction, “Gooshie, I want you to find anything you can on Candice Mahoney and Harvey Pitts. Those are the two most likely suspects.”

     “Already done.” Gooshie dutifully opened the Imaging Chamber.

     “Wait. Before you go, are there any more victims we should know about?”

     “There’s no data on that yet,” Gooshie replied apologetically. Of course. “But the way things are going…it’s a safe bet to say yes.” With that ominous prediction, the door clunked shut.

     “Not if we can help it,” Sam quietly promised to himself. He turned to Al, who was rubbing his head again. It struck him that he’d been doing that a lot lately. “Hey, are you alright?”

     “Yeah. Just a headache.” Sam watched him with worry, but his friend looked up reassuringly. “Honest. I just need some rest, that’s all.”

\-------

     Six of Stokes’s extra strength migraine pills were popped into Al’s mouth. Taking a generous gulp of water to get them down, he rested his trembling hands on the bathroom sink. This was not an ideal time for his head to be splitting in two! Not when a crazy person was out there killing people. He had to be on his A game, and he felt like he wasn’t even on his F game at the moment.

     He’d lied to Sam. Not so out of the ordinary, because he could write a book about how many times he’d lied to, fibbed, and fooled Sam over the years. There were things Sam couldn’t or didn’t need to know, things that would hurt him, and that was the last thing Al wanted. That’s how he’d justified it anyway. But this time, he hadn’t lied to protect Sam. He’d lied to protect himself.

     The truth was, he didn’t _remember_ what happened tonight. Not all of it. After Mahoney had left, the pain had been so bad he’d blacked out for a bit. When he came to, he was standing out in the snow with…with another corpse in front of him. The killer could’ve been staring him straight in the face and he’d never have known. It was sickening to think he could have let this happen, and that just made him more determined to be there for the next target and make up for it. Before it was too late.

     He couldn’t tell Sam how badly he’d screwed things up, because headaches were the last thing they should be worried about. He’d deal with them like he always did. Just…he hoped they would stop soon, because they’d never hit him like this before. And, well, it was beginning to worry him.

     So he’d continue to hide the truth, just like when he was Observer. He may be stranded in time now, but he still had a job to do. Al Calavicci: Designated Liar. That was him alright.

     He turned off the light.


	3. Chapter 3

     “Now you’ve got everything from my list?”

     “Mm-hm.”

     “And his binky?”

     “Yep.”

     “Alr—oh! I almost forgot Leggy!” Nancy reached into her bag and pulled out a worn out stuffed octopus, holding it out to Patrick. Patrick seemed unconcerned with the toy at the moment, so Sam shifted him in his arms and took the octopus himself.

     “We wouldn’t wanna forget Leggy,” Sam said, jokingly business-like. He awkwardly tried to stop the diaper bag from sliding off of his shoulder.

     “Oh here, lemme help you take this stuff in.”

     “Thanks, heh.”

     They made their way inside and placed Patrick’s things in the living room. Noticing how tired she looked from the day, Sam gestured toward the table by the kitchen. “Hey, why don’t you have a seat?”

     Nancy hesitated for a moment, but it didn’t take much convincing. “Well…maybe for a little bit.”

     As Sam was setting Patrick down with his beloved toy, Patrick laughed and played with the white streak in Sam’s hair. He was enjoying his new babysitter already.

     Nancy laughed too. “It’s nice to see him so happy. Ever since we split, he’s been…a little depressed.”

     Sam glanced up with slight concern. Poor kid. Then, “How can he be depressed? He’s got Leggy.” He grinned at her responding chuckles and made his way to the seat across from her. It had been a long day for him too, just like the day before.

     “You’re so good with him.”

     “I’m sure he cares about his daddy,” Sam said noncommittally.

     Nancy was watching him with reminiscent eyes, a faded smile on her face. “You ever wonder what things would be like if we’d stayed married?”

     Now Sam was a bit stuck. He couldn’t speak for Derek, so instead he asked, “Well…do you?”

     “Sometimes.” She rested her head on her hand and watched Patrick with a slight sadness. “But not just because of Patrick. Because…because of you.” Sam listened intently. She snorted. “I don’t know what I was thinking marrying a cop. I was always scared you were gonna wind up dead one day, and Patrick wouldn’t have a daddy and I’d be all alone. But...I don’t think that’s any different than we are now.” She turned to face him. “I never stopped loving you, you know. I just wish things had turned out differently.”

     Sam felt the same way. He could sense Derek’s connection with her, that lost opportunity and past futures. He still loved her too. “So do I.”

     Carefully, softly, she leaned in and kissed him. He let Derek kiss her back.

     They parted and she grinned coyly and looked down. Then chuckled and hung her head, embarrassed. “I gotta go.” She stood up and turned to Patrick. “I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you.”

     Sam walked her to the door, but before she left he stopped her. “Nancy.” She faced him. “I never stopped either.”

     She smirked and left. There was something there, something buried but not gone.

\-------

     The next day, Sam left Patrick with his grandfather and joined Al to continue the investigation. After a good night’s sleep, the two of them were feeling reenergized and ready to finally start solving this case. With two leads now, they had something more to go on, and any progress at all was a great thing. Currently they were off to question any potential witnesses from last night, and that would be followed by a visit to their reporter friend.

     “My money’s on Mahoney,” Al said as Sam drove, “She’s got guilty written all over her face.” This was typical of Al on leaps. Any time there was a new suspect, they were automatically the definite guilty party.

     “We shouldn’t write off anyone in the precinct. It could still easily be one of them,” Sam pointed out.

     “She was acting awful _hinky_ last night, Sam. I’m telling you, she’s a _cold-blooded_ _murderer_.” Al waved his hands across each other with finality. She was the definite guilty party. He scratched his temple and stared out the window.

     “How’s your headache?”

     Al took a moment to think. “Oh, _that_ ,” he said, pretending it was something forgettable, “It’s gone, thanks. I was right, just needed to sleep it off.” He smiled gratefully. It was half-true. He’d taken enough painkillers to choke a horse and that seemed to’ve dulled it for now. Al figured he was doing a pretty good job of pretending to be okay since Sam appeared to buy it.

     “You know, I think I might have a secondary objective this leap, Al.”

     “Oh?”

     “Yeah. I think maybe…” Sam smirked and shrugged. “Maybe I’m supposed to get Derek and his ex-wife back together, I dunno.”

     Al’s mouth curled up slyly. “Sam Beckett’s falling for another one. And you tell me _I’m_ too invested in the ladies.”

     Sam’s head fell sideways and he snorted. “Oh c’mon, Al, it’s not like that. I’ve just been spending some time with her and their son and…I just feel like there’s something there.”

     “Could be a nice bonus to get two good kids back together,” Al mused.

     “Yeah,” Sam agreed. This leap could use a little more positivity, and it was a shining light in an otherwise bleak situation. He’d have to keep an eye on that. But for now, they had a case to solve. “Here we are. You ready?”

     He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment and both of them grew tense. The freshly fallen snow had covered up any evidence remaining that anything had happened there the previous night, but both of them were taken back there. The gray tree where Jennifer had been hanging reached out its branches with silent menace.

     “Let’s get goin’,” Al answered, more confident than he felt. They exited the car and began knocking on doors.

\------

     This part of the investigative process was endlessly frustrating. Either no one knew anything or no one wanted to come forward; it was a lot of short interactions with folks who were nervous but not incredibly helpful. And some people who couldn’t care less. Like, for instance, this ball of sunshine.

     “I don’t trust no police,” the heavyset man in his robe said, folding his arms, “I got my wallet stolen three years ago and y’all didn’t do nothin’ about it.”

     Sam pursed his lips and bit his tongue. “…I understand, sir, but there’s a woman dead. If you saw anything, it would be incredibly helpful.”

     “You find my wallet?"

     “Maybe you could buy a treadmill…” Al muttered. What a sleazebag. Ugh, it didn’t help that the drugs were wearing off.

     Sam shot him a glare from over his shoulder. That wasn’t helping. “…we’ll work on your wallet,” he told the man, “Did you see anything suspicious last night?”

     “I ain’t seen nothin’.”

     Suddenly, Al was hit with another wave of pain. He staggered for a moment, using the wall to keep his balance and let the moment pass. Jeez louise! That’s it. He was feeling too miserable to deal with this anymore. He wanted to get this interview over with and get the hell out of here, and he suspected this man knew something.

     He looked up at the man with a haughty grin, eyelids lowered.

     “You ain’t seen nothin’?” Al repeated, lightly pushing a surprised Sam aside, “I’m sure you’re aware that’s a double negative, which means you _did_ see something. Unless you’re just simple, but you don’t strike me as someone who’s half as imbecilic as he looks.”

     Sam was staring. There was something different about how Al was speaking, something out of place.

     The man was staring too. “It was dark.”

     “Oh it was dark?” Al laughed, spreading his hands out, “I’m not so sure about that. The human eye can see wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation from 390 to 700 nanometers, well within the range last night. So unless, perhaps, you’ve got cataracts or a vitamin A deficiency, I think maybe you did see something, so why don’t you use that Planck-sized brain of yours and think harder?”

     The man’s jaw hung open dumbly. “…what?”

     “There’s 12 units in each of these buildings and 42 people in them, you being 2.38% of the population and being home between 4 and 8 PM, the way I figure there’s a 46.1% chance you saw something, a 59.02% chance you heard something, and a 78.5% chance I’ll find something to arrest you for if you don’t cooperate.”

     “Huh?”

     Sam stared incredulously. What the hell was happening?

     “Excuse us for a minute.” Sam grabbed Al by the arm and pulled him away. Once they were out of earshot, he stared at an equally confused Al. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

     “Yeah. Why?”

     “Because you’re acting really weird.”

     Al waved the statement away. “I’m just tryin’ to soften him up. You gotta play hardball sometimes, remember?”

     “I’m not talking about that,” Sam said, scrunching up his face, “I mean, what’re all these numbers you’re throwing out? How did you know all that?”

     Al blinked rapidly. “I dunno. They just came to me.”

     “Okay,” the man called, approaching them, “I don’t know what this crazy good cop, bad cop routine you guys got goin’ is all about, but I’ll tell you what I know. Around ten minutes before the woman bought it, I saw you out in your car with some lady,” he pointed to Al, “and someone else entering the apartments. I couldn’t see their face or nothin’. That’s all I got.”

     Sam and Al looked at each other.

\-------

     The mysterious third person cast some doubt on the theory that Candice Mahoney was the killer, but it was still possible it was simply someone who lived there. Regardless, Mahoney was there before the murder happened and needed to be interrogated.

     The big question marks remained hovering over their heads. Was Mahoney’s grudge enough to kill? Was the third person Pitts? What about Brown? Or was there someone else doing the slayings?

     Al was perplexed by his odd outburst at the apartments just as much as Sam. One minute he had a headache, the next, it was as if all of this…new information was being thrown at him, bits and pieces relating to the case, things he couldn’t possibly know. For instance, he knew Candice was 42 and had been married twice, and her old newspaper was the Daily Reader. And none of that was in Stokes’s or Bowman’s reports, Gooshie hadn’t told them, he just… _knew._ And what the hell did any of that mean?

     “You’re right, Sam. That was strange.”

     Sam furrowed his brows at him as they walked down the hall. “Do you think you’re picking something up from Stokes?”

     “Actually, now that I’m thinking about it...that tracks.” Stokes would know details about the case and the people involved, and, who knows, maybe he was good with numbers. “Yeah, you could be right, Sam.” He hated picking those things up. It made him feel out of his own control. Were these extra strength headaches him too? He did have those migraine pills already.

     Sam looked relieved. “You had me worried for a bit there.”

     “About what?”

     “I dunno, just…had a bad feeling.” Sam shrugged. “But as long as you’re okay.”

     “You kiddin’ me?” Al asked jokingly, raising his shoulders, “If I got worried every time I heard someone throwin’ out numbers, I’d’ve never become friends with a brainiac like you.” Sam snickered.

     They stopped. Water was leaking under the door of Candice’s apartment.

     Al’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”

     Cautiously, Sam knocked on the door. “Mrs. Mahoney?” No answer. He tried again. Nothing. Wordlessly, he and Al reached for their guns and stepped back.

     Al swallowed. Anyone could be inside. Good thing he hadn’t swiss cheesed how to use a gun.

     With a mighty push, Sam managed to ram the door open. They followed the water to the bathroom and made their way inside, weapons drawn.

     Candice Mahoney was dead when they found her. Drowned in the early hours of the morning.

\-------

     Mahoney had gotten in her own way. If she hadn’t persisted, Beckett wouldn’t have had to kill her.

     He didn’t want to. But Lothos had ordered it, and what Lothos wanted Lothos got. Besides, if she’d leaked any information that let the public know these suicides were being investigated as murders, the killer would stop and that would be the end of the line. Which made for a sloppy leap and cut their other plans short. It was what he had to do. For survival, and for revenge. He hoped finding her cut them deep.

     “You shoulda seen his face when he saw Ainsworth!” Calavicci chuckled, “It was priceless!” He’d had a front row view of the whole thing. Beckett, meanwhile, had been hiding down the hallway from Goss’s apartment. He’d planted himself there to change the killer’s path, which is exactly what happened. “He doesn’t have a clue what’s happening to him.”

     Beckett smirked. “When did you get so good at this?”

     Calavicci gave a devil-may-care shrug. “I learned from the best.”

     Beckett studied his knuckles and leaned back in Eads’s chair, his mind wandering. He said nothing in response to the compliment. Calavicci eyed him closely.

     “Something on your mind?”

     He was a master alright.

     “Let’s say tomorrow you escaped from the Project and knew they’d never find you. Where would you go?”

     Irritated, Calavicci turned away. “Oh c’mon, Sam, why’re we beating this dead horse again? It’s all hypothetical bullshit.”

     “Never mind.” Beckett returned his attention to his knuckles, his eyes moving up to the scratches just visible under his sleeve. Mahoney had put up a fight.

     Calavicci shifted his feet uncomfortably. He hated when Beckett got...mopey like that. Like a kicked puppy dog. “Alright,” he relented, sighing, “Somewhere warm.”

     Beckett raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just somewhere warm?”

     “Yeah,” Calavicci replied, almost defensive, “Somewhere warm. Does it have to be specific?”

     “No, I guess not.” Beckett looked amused, playing with a pen. “I like that. Somewhere warm.”

     “I hear it can get warm in Elk Ridge.”

     Beckett looked up at Calavicci, serious now. There was a question there, but not one that was meant to be answered.

     “So.” Calavicci strolled across the room cheerfully, breaking the silence. “If this Al’s anything like me—and he is—it’s gonna take a lot more than this to break him.” He looked over his shoulder with a twinkle in his eye and lifted up the triangular handlink. “So what do you say we amp up the voltage?”

\-------

     “Not another one! Damn it, not another one!” Sam angrily hit his fist into the wall as he paced. Nothing could make sense of them leaping here to cause people to die. It was madness. Weren’t they supposed to be righting wrongs? They might as well be the ones killing them!

     Nursing his newly-resurfaced headache, Al stood in Stokes’s living room and watched Sam as he fumed. He was making both of them even more miserable. “Hey, watch it, would ya? I think these walls are made of cardboard.”

     “What are we even doing here, Al? I mean, what’s the point of us leaping if we’re not going to help anyone?!” Sam was shouting by the end. He ran his hands down his face and got quieter, anger turning to gloom. “I just…feel like we’re not making any difference at all.”

     “That’s rather defeatist, don’t you think?” Al asked, trying to keep their spirits up, “Of course we’re going to make a difference, or else why would we leap here? We’ve got to keep fighting, or else this sick bastard wins.” Jeez, his head was pounding. It seemed to be getting louder and louder.

     “I’m not going to stop fighting,” Sam sighed with exasperation, his back turned, “I have to make things up to Victoria, Jennifer, Candice…everyone. We should have leaped in sooner! No one had to die!”

     Maybe it was the increasingly agonizing headache, maybe it was the murders, maybe it was all sorts of things, but Al’s frustrations with Sam finally came out in one burst. “You can’t keep doing this, Sam! You can’t keep blaming yourself for things out of your control!” He stopped and grabbed his head. It was getting harder to focus. “You always act like you’ve gotta be everyone’s personal savior because you couldn’t save Tom!”

     Sam furrowed his brows, suddenly knocked out of his anger into bafflement. “Tom?” Why was he talking about Tom? He turned to face Al again, but when he saw him his face fell slack. “Al, your nose.”

     A small trickle of blood was dripping down Al’s face. At first, it looked like he was rolling his eyes at Sam’s reaction. But then, Sam realized his eyes were rolling back into his head.

     Before Sam had time to catch him, he’d fallen backwards onto the floor in convulsions.

     “AL!”

\-------

     Al was standing in a big hole. He didn’t usually stand in big holes, or holes of any sort, as a rule. But now he was, and his favorite golden shoes were getting covered in sand.

     Odd that he was wearing his own shoes again, and his yellow suit. Had he leaped home? He didn’t remember home having a big hole.

     Ugh, he was getting sand on his suit too! But where was it coming from? He looked up to see the sand sprinkling down from above. Then he got a face full of it as the sand began to fall harder. Yuck! He spit the dirt out of his mouth.

     Then he noticed his shoes getting buried, along with the rest of him. The hole was filling up!

     Panic began to set in. “Hey!” he called, looking up again and shielding his face, “Anybody out there?” All that was visible above him was inky black. The dirt was up to his waist now. “Help! Somebody help me!”

     _Help somebody help me,_ echoed off the wall, _help somebody help me help somebody help me_

The dirt was up to his neck. He tried to wriggle free and reached toward no one. “HELP!”

     _Helpsomebodyhelpmehelpsomebodyhelpmehelpsomebodyhelpmehelpsomebodyhelpme_

“SAAAAAM!”

     The sand completely buried him, he struggled to breathe, and then—

     Jumpin’ Jehosophat, his head hurt! Well that was his second thought anyway. His first included a few more expletives.

     Slowly, he opened his eyes, but he still had no clue where he was. The ceiling didn’t match Stokes’s apartment. That…was where he’d last been, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember? All he knew was that he was achy and confused and everything was fuzzy.

     His eyes fell on the equipment next to him and the cold familiarity immediately told him this was a hospital. Oh great.

     His groggy eyes gradually landed on Sam, who was seated across from his bed. He eagerly sat up straight when he saw he was awake. “Hey.”

     “Hi...” Al answered softly. He wiggled his nose. Were there tubes in there? He reached up a wobbly hand to feel, but stopped when he noticed his wrist wrapped up in bandages.

     “You, um, you sprained it when you fell.”

     Al glanced up at Sam again, still muddled.

     Sam’s brows were knit close. He leaned on his knees and pressed his palms together. “You had a seizure, Al. You’ve been unconscious for the last six hours.”

     “…oh.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Al unsteadily sat up and began to pull away the sheets.

     Sam was immediately by his side and grabbing him. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

     “Gettin’ outta here…”

     “You’re not going anywhere.”

     “You can’t make me stay, Sam,” Al told him, a bit too anxiously, trying to pull away. He’d spent too much time in his life in hospitals and there were never enough cute nurses to go around. And if you stayed too long…you were never coming out.

     “Al.” The tone of Sam’s voice made him stop. His mouth was a hard line.

     Al hated that look, the expression of deep concern and simultaneous rebuke. Why did he always have to guilt trip him like that? It was a gift. Al relented and let out a deep breath. “Fine. Fine, you got me. I’ll stay.” He laid back down and winced when his head hit the pillow. Jeez.

     Suitably convinced Al was staying put for now, Sam backed off but didn’t sit. He put his hands in his back pockets and regarded Al with careful thought. He seemed to very much want to ask him something—and had been wanting to for the past six hours—but wasn’t sure how to broach the topic.

     This annoyed Al, who didn’t like the close attention he was getting. He’d rather Sam just got it over with. Another reason he hated hospitals, all of a sudden you were extremely _fragile_. “What is it, Sam?” he asked tiredly, hand over his brow.

     Sam considered it for a moment. “Before you…had the seizure, you mentioned Tom.”

     Al raised a curious eyebrow. He didn’t remember. “I did?”

     “Yeah. You said I couldn’t save him.”

     “…oh.”

     “But I did,” Sam told him insistently, stepping closer now, “I leaped in and stopped him from being killed in Vietnam, remember?”

     “Right, of course,” Al agreed, nodding into his hand.

     “So why did you say I didn’t?”

     Al looked up between his fingers at his friend’s questioning gaze, much too exhausted to be coming up with anything clever. He didn’t know what he’d said before the seizure, but evidently he’d let something slip. He shrugged and cleared his throat. “Well obviously I misspoke.”

     “No you didn’t.” Sam wasn’t buying any of this, not for a moment. Yeesh, Al really needed to sharpen his skills. He continued, unwavering. “You clearly said I couldn’t save Tom. You said that’s why I felt guilty about not being able to save other people.”

     “I guess, uh, I guess I swiss cheesed that leap then. Sorry.”

     “If you did, you wouldn’t know Tom died at all.”

     Al shifted his eyes away, avoiding looking directly at Sam. But Sam wouldn’t let him off so easily, he had his hooks in him now. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the rail of the bed, and Al could feel trouble looming over him. Something bad was coming. Oh, he _hated_ hospitals. Sam licked his lips and furrowed his brow, uncertain how to ask his next question.

     “Al…do you remember when Tom was dead?”

     “Of course I do, Sam. I was there on that leap, remember?”

     “I don’t mean the leap. Al…” Sam squinted at him curiously. “Do you…do you remember the timeline where Tom was dead?”

     It was the question Al never wanted anyone to ask, never wanted anyone to know. A secret he’d kept buried for seven years, only shared between him and a certain parallel hybrid computer. A private burden, a deeply personal experience. Because for seven years, while Sam was forgetting everything, he was the one remembering. Everything. Every timeline, every change. Everyone forgot while he just…didn’t. And he’d hoped no one would ever find out.

     “Al. Do you remember?”

     For the life of him, Al couldn’t think of a way out of this one. He must really be out of it. Sam was watching him with earnest concern, slowly trying to piece together what he already suspected. And Al couldn’t stand it. He wished he could get into the Accelerator now and jump back, stop himself from slipping. Anything to make this secret his again. He admitted quietly, almost imperceptibly, “…yes.”

     Sam’s mouth hung open just slightly, dumbstruck. Oh here it went. “No one should remember that timeline, Al.”

     “I do.”

     “How?”

     Al studied his bandage, then closed his eyes in defeat. Well, he’d had a good run as being seen as a stable human being. Might as well embrace the next phase of his life, as a weird side effect of a time travel experiment. “…because I remember all the timelines.”

     At first, Sam stood frozen in shock, unable to process this. Al didn’t look at him but he could feel his eyes on him, trying to figure him out. Finally, Sam was able to ask, “Since when?”

     “Since always. Your first leap.”

     Eyes big, Sam sloped forward even further. The railing creaked under the shift in weight. “ _How?_ ”

     Sighing, Al threw up his hands and shook his head. “I think it has something to do with my connection to Ziggy, I dunno.”

     “Well what does the Project think?”

     “They don’t think anything. They don’t know.” Al looked up at a stunned Sam, saw him about to open his mouth, and cut him off at the pass. “…and you’re not going to tell them!” he ordered.

     “I’m not?” Sam was incredulous.

     “No, you’re not!”

     Sam straightened up and stepped back, incensed, and threw his arms out. He could hardly think of where to begin. “Al, how could you keep something like this from me? From us?”

     “Because it’s none of your business!” Al began to waver under Sam’s glowering eyes; they demanded a better answer. He blinked furiously, folding his arms and rolling his head uncomfortably. “Because…Because I don’t want anyone… _looking_ at me.”

     “Looking at you? Like what?”

     “Like that!” Al burst out, pointing at him, “Like I’m some sort of freak or something. I’ve been dealing with this just fine on my own.”

     “Look at yourself! You’re not fine!” Sam gestured emphatically at the bed.

     “Whoa! Back up!” Al raised his hands defensively. “Who says any of this has to do with that?”

     “Doesn’t it?”

     “No! I’ve never had a seizure before this!”

     Sam paused for a second, hands on his hips, and considered that. “And the headaches? How long have those been going on?”

     Al went quiet again and lowered his head. All of his little white lies were getting out. “…since I started leaping.” Sam craned his neck and gave Al a furious look. “But they were never this bad before! Just all of a sudden this leap, they started getting worse. That’s how come I got mixed up about Tom; everything’s sort of…cluttered.”

     Sam stood there in silent anger, taking a deep breath to calm himself down before speaking again. The quiet continued to bear down on Al like a crushing weight. This was worse than being yelled at. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Al?”

     “…no, that was it,” Al answered guiltily.

     Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Okay,” he exhaled, “I want you to stay here until the doctor says you’re alright to leave. No checking out early. If he says you need to stay even longer, you do it. Understand me?”

     “…understood,” Al answered softly. Sam heatedly crossed the room and grabbed his coat. “What are you going to do?”

     “I’m going to deal with this case and try and figure out what’s wrong with you.”

     “Sam?”

     Ignoring Al, Sam left the room and shut the door. Al watched the ceiling miserably. _Good one, Al. You’ve really done it this time._


	4. Chapter 4

Sam wouldn’t say Al was a compulsive liar, but he’d certainly made a career out of being one. And after seven years it had become a normal part of their routine, only…things had changed since he became a leaper, hadn’t they? Sam thought they had. He couldn’t believe after everything they’d been through—after Al had so _viscerally_ gutted him for not communicating, the absolute _gall_ —he was still keeping secrets. And this was a pretty damn huge secret to keep. Whether Al’s ability to remember all the timelines related to his seizure or not, he should have told him. And he should have told him how bad his headaches had gotten before it ever went this far. When he’d started convulsing it scared the hell out of him.

     Sam was mad at himself too. He knew something was wrong with Al this leap, but he’d tricked himself into thinking it was as Al had told him. Or maybe just how Al was handling it. It was easier than dealing with another crisis on top of this cursed leap. Sam had wanted him to be okay because then he could focus on the killer. Now, his friend was facing some serious health issues. This could be a very grave problem, and the worst part was it might not even be a fixable one.

     He tried not to think about that. Instead, while he waited for Gooshie, he focused on something that he _could_ fix.

     “Bowman. Congrats, buddy.” Pitts was outside the station smoking, huddled up pathetically in the cold as Sam tried to hide his slight limp. He grinned. “I heard you finally got rid of that Mahoney bitch.”

     Sam grit his teeth. Pitts was uniquely punchable in everything he said. “I notice you aren’t shedding any tears either. She won’t be able to ruin the department now.” There was clear accusation in his voice. If Pitts was the killer, he might give himself away when confronted.

     “What is that supposed to mean? I thought you wanted the bitch gone.”

     “I didn’t want her dead.”

     He shrugged. “One less nagging female is fine by me. They’re all the same.”

     “What’s your problem with women anyway?” Sam asked.

     Pitts slit his eyes suspiciously. “Just say what you’re getting at.”

     “Okay. Where were you when Jennifer Ainsworth and Candice Mahoney died?”

     Flicking his cigarette into the snow, Pitts stepped as close as he could get, close enough to feel his breath. “I wasn’t killing them, if that’s what you’re implying. So back off, Bowman.” And he went inside.

     A gut feeling told Sam right then he was looking at a guilty man, and he always trusted his gut. Now he just had to prove it.

     The sound of the Imaging Chamber cued Gooshie’s arrival and he spun around to face him. “Dr. Beckett, I’m sorry I’m—”

     “Candice Mahoney is dead and I want to know why you didn’t tell me.”

     Gooshie was taken aback by Sam’s abrupt demand, shrinking into the Imaging Chamber floor. If he were a dog, his ears and tail would be down. “I-I’m sorry, Dr. B-Beckett, I really am! But this leap has been all over the place! We’re trying our best, but…” His shoulders sagged. “This leap keeps shifting and we don’t know why. And on top of that, Mr. St. John decided to perform a surprise inspection, so we’ve just been scrambling to keep up with everything!”

     Sam frowned disbelievingly. “He’s doing an inspection now? Two more women have been murdered!” Edward St. John the Fifth’s bad timing and obliviousness to others made him the worst candidate for his job. No wonder Weitzman liked him. 

     “I-I’d change it i-if it were up to me, but…” Gooshie shrugged apologetically. “Anyway, we would’ve told you about Candice Mahoney if we’d known. Ziggy’s gone over the forensics on the flannel shirt and everything that came back was blood from Victoria Hershey, so there’s nothing there. We’re working on Pitts’s history. If we find anything else, we’ll let you know. We’re—”

     “—working on it, I know.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Gooshie, I know it’s not your fault.” Gooshie gave a humorless grin of acknowledgement. He was used to being the scapegoat. Sam’s hand fell to his side. “There’s something else. Al had a seizure today.”

     Gooshie went stiff. “What? Is he okay?”

     “I don’t know. He’s in the hospital right now. One minute he was talking to me, the next he was on the floor.” Sam ran his hand down his face tiredly and sighed. He didn’t like reliving the frightening moment. “He—he told me he’s been having these headaches since he started leaping, and now they’ve started getting worse.”

     “Headaches?” Gooshie repeated, puzzled, “Why didn’t he say anything before?”

     “Because he’s being a stubborn ass like usual,” Sam muttered crossly. He hugged himself, thinking over what he was about to ask. He’d been considering this since he’d left Al in the hospital. “Gooshie…do you think leaping might have side effects?”

     “Like headaches and seizures?” Gooshie asked, scratching his head, “I don’t know, Dr. Beckett, you’ve never displayed any of these symptoms and you’ve been leaping longer.”

     “Well what if it affects everyone differently? I mean, people in the Waiting Room don’t respond the same, so why not leapers?” Sam bit his lip nervously. Hesitantly, he lifted a shoulder. “What if some people…aren’t meant to leap?”

     Gooshie raised his eyebrows. “I-I mean, it’s a possibility,” he admitted, clasping his hands behind his back, “I can’t say for sure, I mean…we’ve never had another leaper to compare, and time travel is still a relatively new science. What makes you think Admiral Calavicci’s headaches have to do with leaping?”

     Sam pursed his lips. Al would be furious when he found out he told, but it was stupid of him to keep it hidden anyway. Still…it felt a bit like breaking his trust. “He said that he can remember all the timelines, Gooshie. Even after they’ve changed.”

     Gooshie’s eyes bugged out in awe. “Really?” Sam nodded. “Amazing…I don’t recall him ever mentioning this.” The handlink shrieked and Gooshie jumped. Ziggy didn’t usually fuss with him as much as she did with Al. He began to shake it with confusion.

     “That’s because he never told anyone,” explained Sam, “He wouldn’t have told me either, except his headaches are causing him to lose track of what timeline it is.”

      Gooshie took a break from pressing buttons on the handlink. “And—can _you_ , er, remember all of them too?”

     “No,” Sam answered, “It’s just him.” Why was that? Because of Al’s connection to Ziggy, he said? They were both connected to her, weren’t they?

     “This is fascinating…” Gooshie murmured as he continued to fight with the handlink. It was almost like she was indignant at them looking into this particular issue, but why that was he wasn’t sure. “Wow! I never suspected!” He chuckled enthusiastically. He was finding way too much joy in this. Al would probably find all of this very annoying. “I’ll have to check with Ziggy, but I’m very curious to know why he’s the only one who can remember.”

     “Do you think that’s the reason he’s having the headaches? Could remembering everything be affecting him somehow?”

     Once again, Gooshie replied, “It’s a possibility.”

\-------

     Al still wasn’t quite 100% when he’d checked out of the hospital, but the doctor had cleared him and that was enough to keep his promise to Sam. Hell, just leaving that damn place made him feel a little better. The air smelled—er, not clean, but better than in there. He flopped himself down on Stokes’s couch and groaned. Ugh, he needed this like a hole in the—Well.

     Maybe Sam was right. He should have told him everything. Because he was starting to suspect, after the seizure and all, that something might be seriously wrong with him. He could only hope that once they leaped out whatever was happening would stay here in 1982. He missed the headaches from before, at least they didn’t overstay their welcome. Like his fourth wife. Yuck. Sam was lucky he never got married.

     As if the seizure wasn’t bad enough, now his secret was out. He was sure Sam was telling Gooshie everything right now, because that’s who Sam was, someone who jammed his nose into everything to help even if it wasn’t needed. His memories weren’t the problem. It was the traffic jam in his head. But now he was some sort of _fluke_ , some freak accident. Something to be studied under a giant microscope, if he ever got home that is. Sam was always going to see him that way now, when he just wanted to be Al. He wanted to be normal. Like everyone else.

     Now if he could just get rid of this ringing in his head, that would be gangbusters.

     Oh, wait, that was the phone. He wearily picked it up from the stand by the couch. “Hello?”

     “Al?” It was Sam. But the tone of his voice—quiet, scared—immediately put Al on edge. He sat up with worry. 

     “Sam?”

     “Al, he’s got me. I was getting too close and he—he chased me here.” Sam’s voice was starting to static. He could hear him breathing heavily. “He’s just outside the door.”

     “Who’s got you, Sam? Where are you?”

     Sam panted, pausing for something. Listening? “I’m on 1242 on 16th Avenue…Al...he’s going to kill me.”

     Al rocketed to his feet in a panicked frenzy. “Don’t worry, Sam! I’m comin’!”

     The phone dropped to the ground and Al ran out the door.

\-------

     “Hmm…could Admiral Calavicci be mind-merging with the person he’s leaped into?”

     Sam shook his head. “See, that’s what we thought at first, but that was before he told me the headaches have been happening since he started leaping.”

     “Hm.” Gooshie pulled at his mustache in contemplation.

     “He said he thought he could remember the timelines because of his connection to Ziggy. Does that mean anything to you?”

     Gooshie’s eyes widened, mind spinning. “Maybe. He might be onto something.”

     They were interrupted by Pitts, who stuck his head out the door. “Hey Bowman! When you’re through talking to yourself, we’ve got a jumper on 16th.”

\-------

     It was easy to forget, with all of the things going wrong this leap, that Sam still had a job to do as a police officer. And while this wasn’t his first time talking someone out of a suicide attempt, it was his first time he’d been called to do so in a professional capacity. He had to admit he felt a little out of his depth. But given this was successful, he’d at least have saved one life this leap.

     By the time he arrived with Pitts, other officers had already shown up to keep curious onlookers at bay. It was a new building under construction, but halted for the winter. Which meant it was half built, icy, and dangerous. And near the top story, a jumper was standing on one of the beams.

     Just looking at it made Sam nauseous. He was terrified of heights. He could only gawk at the building stupidly.

     “He isn’t responding to us down here,” an officer explained to them, “I think we gotta send someone up."

     Sam swallowed. Terrific.

     Pitts had borrowed a pair of binoculars off of the officer next to them. He frowned. “The hell? Is that Stokes?”

     Within a millisecond, Sam had yanked the binoculars away from him. Sure enough, it was Al up there. He gaped. “Oh my god…”

\-------

     Whatever the hell was happening, Sam was petrified. Right now his mind was ping-ponging between two horrifying possibilities: either he fell to his death, or Al did. And making his way up the freezing building gave him ample time to imagine either. Why was Al on top of this building and what the hell was going on?

     At last, he arrived at the right story and made his way in. This level had pieces of the wall and floor missing, letting drafts of cold air cut through his jacket and chill him straight to the bone. And outside, Al was standing precariously on one of the beams. He was saying something, but Sam couldn’t make it out. Who was he talking to?

     “Al?” Al didn’t hear him. He needed to get closer.

     Carefully stepping around the missing floor panels, Sam slowly made his way toward the other side. For the love of god, don’t fall.

\-------

     “Help me, Al! Help!” 

     “Hang on, Sam! I’m here!” Oh, god. Al leaned close to the wall and avoided looking down. About ten feet away from him, Sam was standing on the end of the beam, noose tied around his neck. One wrong move, and he’d fall and break his neck. Damn it, he should’ve been with him instead sitting on his butt at the hospital.

     The fact the killer could be anywhere filled Al with paranoia. He hadn’t seen him since he’d arrived. He could show up any minute and off them both.

     He was almost there, but the icy beam was difficult to move on and the frigid air made gripping the wall difficult. Jeez, why hadn’t he thought to grab some gloves before he left? His fingers and face were numb.

     “Sam,” he shivered, “Try and get closer to me. I’ll untie you.”

     “I can’t,” Sam breathed, staring downwards, “I can’t move.”

     “Okay, Sam,” Al said reassuringly, “Okay. I’m comin’.” He didn’t want to scare him into slipping; what a stupid way to die. He inched his way forward. Sam was deathly afraid of heights, so he didn’t want to spook him.

     “Help me, Al.” Sam held out his hand. Al reached toward him with his sprained wrist.

     “Al?”

     Instantly, Al froze. The voice behind him sounded an awful lot like Sam.

     Suddenly more frightened than he was at the height, Al apprehensively swiveled his head behind him. And his breath caught in his throat.

     Sam was standing a few feet away on the other side of him. No, that wasn’t right. Al’s head whipped back to the other Sam.

     He was gone.

     Sam was staring at him, brows furrowed deep. He swallowed and tried to hide the fact where they were standing was one of his worst nightmares. “Al, what are you doing up here?”

     For a moment, Al could only stare at the spot where Sam used to be, too stunned to respond. He turned back to where Sam currently was. Suddenly nothing about anything made sense. With frightened confusion, he meekly breathed, “I…I don’t know.”

     Al was watching Sam now, looking for answers he didn’t have. Sam had questions of his own, but they could wait until they were both down and he could breathe again.

     “Can we go inside out of the cold?” Sam joked with a half-hearted chuckle. Humorlessly, Al gave a timid nod and started his way back.

     Then his foot slipped. He yelled as he started to fall, but Sam lunged forward and pinned him to the wall with one arm.

     An icicle broke off of the beam. A short delay later, it shattered down below. The two of them were stuck in place, eyes wide, Sam’s legs spread and his arm keeping Al in place.

     Sam grimaced; he was leaning on his bruised leg. He made the mistake of looking down and immediately jerked his head back up, trying to hold back his hysteria. “Oh boy…” he breathed, eyes wide, “This is really high…”

     “Yeah…” Al agreed, rigid with fear.

     Sam was constantly annoyed with GTFW. Why did he have to deal with heights again? Give him someone to fight, but don’t stick him on top of a building! And now both their lives were in his hands. He tried to keep himself calm, for both their sakes. His foot was starting to slide. “I’m…I’m gonna pull us back,” he said shakily, “Okay?” Al agreed wordlessly and Sam closed his eyes. Think positive. They weren’t far up. They were at ground level. Everything was going to be okay. One, two…

     Three! Sam yanked Al toward him and straightened his legs out, managing to pull both of them back inside. They landed on the floor, mere inches away from an open panel, shaking free a layer of dust that floated peacefully down.

     They stared at each other with relieved panic.

\-------

     “Hot diggity damn! Now we’re cooking with gas!” Calavicci was nearly buckled over with laughter. “That rescue was quite a show. Harrowing, dangerous, maybe a tad touching. He’s losing his marbles!”

     A satisfied Beckett removed the noose from his neck and placed it on Eads’s desk. For a first-time experiment projecting a hologram within the leap, he’d say this was a rousing success. The other Al had been convinced he was really there with him, and not miles away in this office. “And the Oscar goes to…” he said with a bow.

     “Some of your best work,” Calavicci submitted, bouncing on his heels, “Was that real tears I saw?”

     “I think my favorite part was when he nearly slipped on the ice and went SPLAT!” Beckett smacked his hands together. It made a lovely sound when he imagined flesh hitting concrete.

     Calavicci smirked, an impish twinkle in his eye. “You devil you.”

     Beckett didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing Al’s reaction when he thought he was going to die. He’d seen it once before, when he’d strapped dynamite to his chest and nearly blown him to smithereens. Maybe he should have, saved himself the trouble of everything that happened since.

     Then the other Sam wouldn’t be back to cast his shadow over him. And he never would have been close enough to remember what happiness was like.

     He crossed over to the window and mused. “I wonder what the other me is thinking…”

     “He’s probably thinking I’m one sandwich short of a picnic. Er—he is.” Calavicci cocked his head at the mix up.

     “For such a genius, you’d think he’d be able to connect some dots.”

     “Well here’s what I’ve learned about geniuses, Sam,” Calavicci said, stepping confidently to his side, “They’re not the smartest of the bunch.”

\-------

     Once again wrapped in a blanket and seated on Bowman’s couch, a completely bewildered Al let his hands fall into his lap. “I _swear,_ Sam. You called me and told me you were in trouble.”

     Sam stopped chewing on his nail. “Obviously I didn’t.”

     “I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” Al asked, aggravated. He sighed. “I just know what I heard and saw. I—I got a call from you saying the killer had chased you into that building. And when I got there, I…” He took a deep breath, worried now, and ran his hands through either side of his hair. Head still in hands, he glanced up. “I _saw_ you, Sam. I _talked_ to you. You were tied up to that beam.”

     Sam crouched down to meet him at eye level. Trying to be tactful, he said, “Al…no one else was up there.”

     Al laughed miserably, studying his hands. “I know.”

     “How could I be tied up there if I was behind you?”

     “I know.”

     “So then I couldn’t possibly have called you, because I wasn’t there.”

     “I know, Sam!” Al burst out, throwing off the blanket and standing up, “I know! I’m losing my damn mind!” He stopped, fearful now, and rubbed his chin. He blinked furiously. “I’m seeing things and it scares the hell out of me! I nearly got us both killed today!” He squeezed his head and shut his eyes tight. “Damn it!”

     “Calm down, Al!” Sam told him, grabbing him by an arm. Al pulled away. He didn’t like the way he looked at all. “I don’t want you to have another seizure.” At the reminder, Al clapped his hand over his eyes. “Now look. You’re not losing your mind. Something is happening to you, and we’re going to figure out what. Gooshie’s working on it right now.”

     “He shouldn’t bother.”

     Sam frowned. “What’re you talking about, he shouldn’t bother?”

     “I already know what’s wrong with me.” A pause. “It…it took me a while to figure it out, but then…then after what happened at the construction site, it all came together.”

     Puzzled, Sam went quiet and waited for Al’s explanation. For a prolonged amount of time, Al remained with his hand over his eyes, hesitant to share this new revelation. When he at last looked up, his eyes were bloodshot with fear and shame.

     “I’m the killer, Sam.”

     Sam straightened up. For a beat, a stunned silence. “What?”

     “I—I know things about the case I couldn’t possibly know,” Al admitted. He rubbed his finger across his temple. “And think about it. I’m the only one who was outside when Jennifer Ainsworth died, and I had been with Candice Mahoney before she bit the dust too.”

     “Don’t you think you’d remember if you killed someone?” Sam pointed out reasonably.

     “I don’t! I blacked out, Sam!” Al threw up his hands in a manic frenzy. “I blacked out at the apartments and when I woke up there was a body in front of me. And I can’t tell you what happened the next morning, because I was out of it then too. You coulda danced the funky chicken in front of me and I wouldn’t know.”

     “The funky—? Al.” Sam shook his head seriously. This was ridiculous. “Even if you did black out, that doesn’t make you a killer. _You’re_ not a killer, Al.”

     “No, but…” Al swallowed. “…I think Brandon Stokes is, and I think…I’m _becoming_ him. I think our minds are magnafoozling and he used me to get those women.” His mouth hung open at the confession, horrified. “Sam…I killed them.”

     With two short steps, Sam closed the distance between them and grabbed him firmly by the arms. He wasn’t going to let this go any further. Al tried to pull away again, avoiding eye contact. “Al, listen—no, Al, _listen_! Look at me!” Al stopped, hesitantly met his gaze. “You did _not_ kill those women.”

     “I feel like I’m losing me,” Al breathed, terror-stricken, “It feels like someone else is in control of my mind. I think—I think I saw you because my brain was trying to protect itself from what I’ve done. I can’t trust myself.”

     It was Al’s biggest fear of leaping. Not dying, not being stranded from home. Losing himself. Because if he didn’t have himself, who was he? And who would he become?

     “You can trust me,” said Sam. Al met his eyes again. His friend’s mouth was set with resolve. “You wouldn’t leap into someone just so more people could die. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t believe what’s happening to you has anything to do with Stokes, but if it does, that doesn’t make you a murderer. And whoever’s doing this is still out there.” Sam pointed at the wall. He paused meaningfully and took in Al’s disconsolate face. “We’re going to find them. Don’t fall apart on me now.”

     Not entirely convinced, Al nevertheless nodded in acknowledgement. It hurt his head to argue more.

\-------

     It was clear to Sam that Al couldn’t be left alone now, so it was agreed he would stay over at his place. Sam didn’t want him getting any more phone calls or making any daring rescues, not to mention his seizure was still on his mind. Al didn’t want to be alone in case he blacked out again and stuck a knife in someone’s head.

     Sam paid little attention to _The Love Boat_ as it played on the television, it simply served as background noise to fill in the uneasy silence. While Al had excused himself to go to the bathroom, he pored over the case files spread out on the coffee table. Falling back on the sofa exhaustedly, he rested his head on his thumb and index finger. It had been a very, _very_ long day.

     Al wasn’t the killer. He just wasn’t. It was obvious he wasn’t thinking straight, or he would see how outlandish his claim was. Psychosynergizing with Stokes wouldn’t explain mixing up the timelines. Besides, there would be no _point_ in GTFW leaping him into someone who would merge with him and cause him to commit murder. And Sam knew enough by now to trust that Whoever was leaping them around in time always had a reason.

     Sam remained convinced it was Pitts. Gooshie had finally come back with some background on him, and that further cemented his suspicion. Pitts had a history of excessive force and violent misconduct, which included two instances of suspension. He’d also had the police called for a domestic dispute in the early 70s. Couple that with his transparent sexism, and it all seemed cut and dry. Somewhere in these files, there must be proof of him slipping up.

     But. If it was Pitts…why did the leap keep changing? What were they doing to change his course of action? That was the one piece of the puzzle he couldn’t quite fit together.

     Stokes was involved in all of these cases too…and he was definitely different now.

     Sam was suddenly filled with shame just for considering it. No. Stokes didn’t kill them and neither did Al.

     It occurred to him that Al had been in the bathroom for a long time now. He could use a break anyway, so he got up, walked to the bathroom, and gently rapped on the door.

     “Everything good in there?”

     A pause. “Hunky-dory.”

     He didn’t sound good. He sounded pretty bad, actually. The door wasn’t locked, so Sam carefully opened it and peeked inside. And what he saw was disconcerting.

     Al was sitting fully clothed in the tub, curled up and clutching his head. He didn’t look up when Sam came in. It was as pitiful as it was heartbreaking. Sam didn’t say anything, only took it all in with worry. Things were getting worse.

     If what was happening to Al was some side effect of leaping—some unforeseen mental collapse or worse—it was Sam’s fault he was here. Maybe Al wasn’t meant to leap.

     “How many times have I been married, Sam?” Al rasped.

     Sam was alarmed. Al usually mixed up which wife was what number, but never the total. “Five. You’ve been married five times, Al.”

     “Huh. I thought it was s-six, ‘cause…but then, heh, there were two sixes actually. One was, uh, between four and five—which would make her five and Maxine six…but then one was after that, when you changed…but she went away.” Sam was silent again. Al lifted his head. Dark circles were under his red eyes. “I thought, uh, for a second I was gone before…I remembered I came back.” He sniffed and fell back into the tub, his face showing his true fear. He met Sam’s worried stare, plaintive, searching. “I can’t keep it all straight anymore, Sam.” 

     Sam couldn’t understand what he was going through. How could he? He couldn’t fathom the burden of remembering all of the timelines; he hated to think of everything he might have changed simply by leaping. He never knew. And Al had suffered alone all these years.

     Sam sat down on the toilet and pressed his fingertips together. “Tell me what it’s like, Al. Remembering it all.”

     For a long time, Al contemplated how to describe it. He’d never had to. The only one who experienced the same thing was a parallel hybrid supercomputer, and it wasn’t the same. The lines in his face deepened and he frowned. “It’s like, uh…it’s like I’m several different people. And each one of me had a slightly different path, and…and every day I gotta keep track of which me I am. Except—except now I don’t know exactly which me I am, because I’m all of them at the same time.” He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing in pain. “I used to think, y’know…there was an upside to it because, because I had something nobody else did. Perspective, y’know. Now…” He sniffled, his head sunk low. He turned his head toward Sam, angry and miserable. “I don’t wanna remember anymore, Sam. It’s like there’s a jackhammer in my head a-and I just want it to stop.”

     Sam wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Al.”

     “Not as sorry as I am,” Al replied, lowering his head again and placing his hands over the back, “I want to sleep. I want to sleep, Sam.”

\-------

     Sam got a good five hours of uneasy rest, still dressed in his uniform, on the couch he felt like he was beginning to live on. This leap his mind was preoccupied with ten to twenty different things, and all of them seemed at frustrating dead ends. If this was how overwhelmed _he_ felt, he couldn’t imagine how Al must feel.

     Every time he’d changed something in the future, he’d created a new Al.

     He was woken up by the sound of cereal being poured into a bowl. He grunted and sat up. Al was in the kitchen. Looking…well, better, actually. It was encouraging to see him eating something. Admittedly, anything was an improvement over the state he’d been in last night.

     “Morning…” Sam mumbled.

     “Yeah.” Al opened the fridge to get out the milk. But before he poured it in, he scratched behind his ear inquisitively. “Did I wake you up?”

     “Nope,” Sam politely lied, getting up. His muscles ached from sleeping on the couch. “You sleep okay?”

     “Like a dream,” Al said as he finished pouring the milk, “Yeah, I, uh, feel a lot better after sleeping it off.”

     Sam knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to dispute him. Al was so good at hiding things he probably would believe it if he didn’t already know what he knew.

     Al leaned against the counter and drummed his fingers. “Uh, Sam…about last night. I didn’t, uh…say anything weird, did I?”

     “No.” It was worrying Al didn’t remember. He must’ve been blacking out again.

     “Good.” Al bobbed his head and pursed his lips. He stopped drumming. “Good.”

     “Al…you don’t have to worry about what I think of you.”

     It was a sudden revelation of something that should’ve been so obvious. Al met his gaze and felt very much like an idiot.

     It didn’t matter what was happening to Al, Sam would always be his friend. Remembering the timelines, merging with Stokes, or losing his mind…Sam saw Al for who he was. Al felt stupid for not seeing it before. That kid was something else.

     A voice rang out and the two of them jumped. It was Bowman’s police radio.

     _“Bowman, are you reading this?”_

Sam picked it up. “This is Bowman.”

     _“We just got a call reporting sounds of a woman being attacked. It’s a couple blocks from your area; 847 Park, apartment 3. Can you be there?”_

“I’m on it,” Sam answered quickly. His heart raced. It could be Pitts. He looked up at Al, hands on his hips, and weighed his options. He wasn’t sure he was in any shape to come, but he didn’t think he should leave him alone either. Pressed for time, he decided it would be better to keep him close. “Al. We gotta go.”

     “Me?” Al questioned with wide eyes, “Sam, I can’t…I mean, I could…”

     “You’re _not_ the killer,” Sam said firmly, “But this could be him. Now I can’t leave you here, so you’re gonna have to come with me. Get in the car.” He waved toward the door, grabbed his coat, and left. There wasn’t time to argue.

     Thrown for a loop, Al quickly yanked one of Bowman’s coats off the rack and scrambled after Sam.

\-------

     “Stay in the car,” Sam ordered as he opened his door and took off.

     “Stay in the car?” Al repeated, mouth screwed up. Was he an invalid now? “Saaam!” But Sam was already entering the apartments. With a huff, Al slumped into his seat and crossed his arms. He guessed he couldn’t blame him. Right now, he wasn’t sure what he was capable of.

     He heard a gunshot go off and he jerked up.

     There was no force on earth that was gonna keep him in that car. He shoved open his door and was running up those stairs like his shoes were on fire.


	5. Chapter 5

     Each time Al’s feet pounded into the steps, the sound rattled painfully through his head as more information flooded his senses. 847 Park Street, Stokes had his first apartment a mile from here; he drove past it every day. The first victim, Sophia, lived 5.36 miles away at 293 Fain Avenue; she worked as a hairdresser for two years and ten days; she’d broken her arm once when she was six; she had two sisters—Lorraine and Grace—one cat; the cat was named Arthur, a tabby, was due for rabies shots, 7 years old—

     The door was open. Al ran inside and whipped his head around in search of Sam. No one was in the living room. What the hell was he gonna do? He didn’t have a weapon on him. Thinking back to a minute ago he realized he hadn’t thought this entirely through. He supposed he’d wing it when he got there. Unthinking, he jogged over to the nearest room and flung open the door.

     The battered woman inside screamed. She went quiet when she saw it wasn’t her attacker. Quaking, she said, “He—he only gets like this when he’s drunk.”

     Oh god. He was alone with her. He flashed back to Jennifer Ainsworth swinging from the tree, Candice Mahoney floating in the tub. He didn’t trust what he would do if—

     _BANG! BANG!_

Two shots whizzed through the wall outside the bedroom. The woman screeched again and covered her ears. The sound sent Al’s aching ears ringing, and he ran inside and dived to the floor. Ack! He landed on his bad wrist. Crawling over to the terrified woman, he held her close and kept her near the ground. “Stay low! Stay low! You don’t want one of ‘em to wing ya!”

     Jeez, he hoped Sam was alright! The pain in his head was getting so bad he could hardly see straight.

     “He’s going to kill us!”

     “No, no, he’s not gonna kill us,” Al assured her, blinking his achy eyes, “That’s my partner in there. He knows what he’s doing.”

     “You’re a cop?”

     “Sometimes…” Al listened closely for more gunshots, but the ringing in his ears was getting louder. The woman said something to him, but it was barely audible over the sound.

     “…dmir…avicci!” Vaguely, Al could hear the muffled sound of Gooshie’s voice. He squinted around the room until he saw a mustached face peeking through the wall. Gooshie was saying something else, but he couldn’t make it out. God, his head hurt!

     “Huh…?”

     Gooshie spoke again. Al was confused. Louder this time, just enough to hear, Gooshie shouted, “DR. BECKETT IS IN TROUBLE!” He pointed wildly behind him into the next room.

     Sam! Al started to get up. Before he did, he turned to the frightened woman with him. “Listen, uh…” A surge of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut. “S-Stay here, okay? Don’t get up until one of us comes and gets you.” She timidly nodded. He got up.

     The room wobbled unstably, sending Al veering sideways at first. He caught himself on the wall and tried to shut out the throbbing in his head. 92.3% chance of Sam getting shot through the head, 87.65% of him getting shot himself; the man in there was Arnie Lutz and he’d been married to Kate for 272 days; he’d been arrested in Kentucky for domestic abuse in 1969; Kate had moved there from Ohio in 1973—

     “Gooshie!” Al called out, “Tell me where to go!”

     “This way!” He heard. He followed the sound of the voice, saw the vague blurry outline of the programmer. “Okay stop!” He stopped abruptly. “The gunman has got his back to the door. He’s going to shoot Dr. Beckett in the head in—”

     “—43 seconds, I know,” Al grunted. His vision clearing a bit, he grabbed the nearest weapon he could find: an old baseball trophy. Slowly, he opened the door.

     He could see the shape of Arnie as he pointed his weapon, and something that was probably Sam.

     Sensing he still needed help, Gooshie said, “Two feet ahead.”

     Thanks, Gooshie. Al closed the distance and, hoping for a truck ton of luck, swung the trophy hard. It collided with the man’s head and he collapsed to the floor.

     So did Al.

     “Al!” Sam ran past the unconscious Arnie to his fallen friend. Trying to pull himself together, Al grimaced and sat up. That’s when Sam noticed the blood coming from his ear.

     “Thank god you’re okay, Dr. Beckett!” Gooshie sighed with relief, making his way over, “I-Is Admiral Calavicci alright?”

     “No. Al, we need to get you back to the hospital.”

     “No hospital!” Al snapped. The sound of his own voice made him moan. He sighed and looked to Sam entreatingly. “What’re they gonna do for me, Sam?”

     Sam didn’t answer. He was right; they wouldn’t be able to help him with this particular problem. Al wasn’t in any shape to be here.

     “Just take me home,” Al asked, voice creaking in his palm, “Please.”

\-------

     Sam was at his wits end. They had to help Al soon, or he could have worse than a seizure. In the next room, he was lying on the bed in agony. He couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Please tell me you’ve got something,” Sam asked their befuddled hologram, crossing the room.

     “As a matter of fact, I do,” Gooshie offered, and Sam straightened up with hope. The programmer lifted up the handlink. “Ziggy and I had a long talk. Her best theory as to why Admiral Calavicci can remember everything when we don’t is because the two of them are linked by his chip. That connection allows him to share her ability to catalog all the timelines.”

     Sam narrowed his eyes with confusion. “Chip?”

     “Y’know, up here.” Gooshie tapped the handlink to his head.

     “The—ohhh! The chip!” Sam smacked his forehead as the memories came back. “That’s right! I convinced him to have it put in to help connect him as an Observer!” Gosh, it had been so long ago now. That’s why Al connected to the Imaging Chamber better than anyone else. It’s how they’d kept in contact with Sam and kept things running as smoothly as they had. But Sam had no idea it would ever have that kind of effect on Al. How could he? He furrowed his brows. “Is that what’s causing his headaches?”

     “Possibly, if it’s malfunctioning,” Gooshie admitted anxiously. He wished he had better answers.

     Sam had his hand over his eyes now, guilt-stricken. “Then this is all because of me.” He chuckled bitterly. “He didn’t even want to do it. I had to argue with him for a week before he agreed to it. And now…”

     “It’s not your fault, Dr. Beckett,” Gooshie comforted him, “Technology breaks. Unexpected things happen. You should know that better than anyone.”

     “Well now Al is stranded in time and my chip could be killing him.”

     “Welllll…”

     Sam looked up. Gooshie was scratching his head uneasily. “What?”

     “We… _might_ have a solution for that.”

     “Gooshie.”

     “Well, Dr. Fuller has been going over things, and…” Gooshie bounced up nervously, eyes shifting. “It’s _possible_ that since Admiral Calavicci has been leaping a shorter amount of time than you, we might be able to retrieve him. MAYBE.”

     “ _What?”_

     “I have to stress it’s a long shot!” Gooshie squeaked, raising his palms, “It’s still untested.”

     Filled with renewed hope, Sam stepped closer. He’d take a long shot. “Then what’re you waiting for? Let’s try it.”

     “I-I’m not sure I’d recommend it.”

     Sam frowned. “Why not?”

     Gooshie sighed and his arms flopped down. “When we tracked down Admiral Calavicci after he used the Accelerator, we used past leap data to lock onto his chip. That’s how we were able to find you, Dr. Beckett. So if this retrieval attempt were successful, even if we didn’t have to remove the chip…we could lose contact with you forever.”

     It would take a moment for Sam to absorb this. He’d be lost in time alone again. No Project, no Al…and no chance of ever coming home. Giving them up had been the hardest decision he’d ever had to make. He wasn’t sure he could do it again.

     But if he didn’t, he might lose Al anyway.

\-------

     When Sam opened the door to Bowman’s bedroom, he peeked his head slowly into the dimly lit room. He found Al standing by the window and staring up at the stained glass clock, rainbow lights being cast on his features.

     Sam stepped quietly inside and cleared his throat to alert Al to his presence. He didn’t respond. “Al?”

     Curiously, Sam joined him and got a good look at his face. Al was blinking rapidly, perplexed, gaze burrowing deep into the clock face. Something about it held his complete attention.

     “Al?” Sam tried again.

     Gasping, Al whipped around as if just noticing him. “Sam!”

     Sam lifted his palms calmingly. “Hey. Yeah, it’s me.”

     “The clock’s broken, Sam.”

     “Huh?”

     “The clock,” Al repeated fervently, tapping rapidly on the window, “It’s broken. Can’t you see?”

     Confused, Sam looked out at the clock. Nothing seemed amiss. He checked his watch to compare the time. “I’ve got 10:32. It’s the same.”

     “It’s _broken_ , Sam.” Al stared at him intensely, his mouth a hard line, as if he’d just delivered some grim news. And yet there was something off about his expression, something absent. “You have to fix it.”

     “There’s nothing wrong with the clock, Al.”

     “Saaaam…!” Al groaned and dragged himself away from the window as if Sam was being particularly difficult. He trudged his way over to the other side of the bed.

     This was more than mixing up timelines now. His hold on reality was slipping. How long until the chip did some permanent damage? If it hadn’t already.

     Sam was having trouble figuring him out, but he had to hope Al was lucid enough to grasp what he was about to tell him. He followed him across the room. “Al, I have something important to tell you. Do you understand?”

     “I’m not senile, Sam,” Al said irritably, setting down the photo he’d been looking at. As if a switch had been flicked, suddenly he seemed much more himself.

     Sam was relieved. A little. Now if he could just stay like this for a bit. “We think what’s happening to you has to do with your chip,” he explained, “Do you remember that?”

     “My chip? This chip?” Al pointed at his temple. “The one you Frankensteined into my brain?” Oh yes, Al remembered. He’d found out about it the last leap, and it’d given him the willies then too. It might have helped them in the long run, but he still didn’t care for the idea of having a foreign object lodged up there. The news was still fresh for him considering the swiss cheesing.

     “Yes,” Sam answered sheepishly, scratching the side of his face, “That one.”

     “Is that why I can remember the timelines? Because it connects me to Ziggy?” Gee, Al was actually a lot more aware than he’d seemed. He was already connecting the dots. He rubbed his head again.

     “I think so,” Sam answered. He twisted his palms together. “And we think it could be malfunctioning and causing these headaches.” He paused. This was difficult for him to say. “And…the Project might be able to retrieve you and remove it.”

     At the sudden prospect of being able to return home, Al’s head jerked up to face him with disbelief. But he knew there had to be a catch, and he narrowed a suspicious eye. “What about you?”

     “Not me. Just you.” Sam dolefully scratched his cheek. “Sammy Jo’s theory is that because you haven’t been leaping as long, there’s a better chance of retrieving you.”

     Trying to focus his pain-addled brain, Al blinked as he took all of this in. This was too much to process. Go home? Now? And then what? Go back to how they were before, Observer and leaper? Had he changed anything then?

     “I think we should take the chance, Al.”

     Al looked at an intent Sam. He didn’t like the meaning behind the kid’s tone. That meant something was really wrong and he was trying to be a hero. “And what happens to you?”

     Head dipped low, Sam wasn’t sure he should answer at first. “…I could lose contact.”

     “Then it’s a no-brainer. I stay.”

     “Al—"

     “I’m not leaving you behind, Sam!” Al yelled, “I didn’t come out all this way just to leave you lost in time again. No way!”

     “Al, if you continue like this, you could die.” The words were like a bucket of cold water. Al went stiff. “You could have another seizure, or a brain hemorrhage, or who knows what else?” Sam pursed his lips. “I’d rather send you back than lose you.”

     A beat. Al cleared his throat and craned his neck. “Well you don’t have to worry about that, because the chip isn’t the problem. _Stokes_ is the problem.”

     Sam threw his head back. “Not this _again._ For the last time, you’re not—”

     “I know myself, Sam, and this is not normal! Some malfunctioning chip wouldn’t explain why I know the things I do about the case! I might be able to remember things you don’t, but I don’t remember things that aren’t my life.”

     “Okay, maybe _some_ of it is Stokes, but that doesn’t make—”

     “I killed them, Sam!” Al was racing toward him now, grabbing him violently by the front of the shirt. There was a sudden madness in his eyes that scared him. “Just like I killed Roget!”

     “Roget?” Sam repeated, baffled, thinking back to the newlyweds on the train. That was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. The first person he’d ever killed on a leap. _Next time, it will be easier._ The words haunted him. “ _You_ didn’t—"

     “I couldn’t look Alia in the eye after that, I was so ashamed!” Alia? What the hell was he talking about? Al shoved Sam back into the dresser furiously. “But how the fuck would you know how I feel? You tried to blow me up! You—you shot a man in the _face_! God, blood was everywhere!” He pulled his hands down his cheeks, eyes wide with panic. “I tried to help you, Sam! I tried to help you!”

     Sam was utterly lost, completely speechless. He wasn’t sure what scared him the most, the lunacy or what oddly seemed to make some sort of sense. What Al was talking about was both completely alien and yet hauntingly familiar—like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue. What was _happening_?

     A knock on the door caused him to yell.

     Now Al was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. Reluctantly, Sam left and shut him in.

\-------

     Gooshie stepped in through the front door. “It’s Mr. Bowman’s ex-wife,” he told Sam, then he squinted one eye curiously, “I think her son could see me.”

     Oh great. Sam balled his hands and bent backwards with frustration. “Oh no, I forgot she was coming!”

     “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea to have them here,” Gooshie helpfully suggested.

     Sam didn’t either. He opened the door to say as much, but before he’d gotten a word out, Nancy was strolling inside. “You won’t _believe_ the morning I’ve had,” she chuckled, setting Patrick down with Leggy, “I’m already exhausted.” She took off her blazer with embroidered flowers, setting it on the back of the kitchen chair. “Wait until you hear—”

     “Nancy, uh—I’m really, really sorry about this, but now is actually a very bad time.”

     Nancy blinked. “You said you’d watch Patrick today, Derek.”

     Sam grimaced and grabbed her by the arms, leading her toward their son. “I know, I know I did, but something unexpectedly came up. Would you be able to take him tonight?”

     “I—I guess, but—” A shout from the bedroom cut her off. She crinkled her brow. “What was that?”

     “Something unexpected.” Sam looked to Gooshie, who took the signal and entered the bedroom to check on him.

     Still puzzled, Nancy nodded and picked up Patrick. “Alright. Is everything okay?”

     “Ohhh yeah, just work stuff,” Sam said with a smile, pushing them toward the door now, “I’ll make it up to you! Bye!” And he shut the door.

     Gooshie reentered the room and shrugged, dumbfounded. “He’s just talking to himself. Gee, he’s really gotten worse, hasn’t he?”

     Sam sighed, resting his hands on his hips and thinking. Leaping Al home had a lot of unknown variables, potentially life-changing, but ultimately it should be Al’s choice. Sam would want the same say if it were him. And he wanted to respect Al’s wishes, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of making that kind of decision at this point. He was in trouble. If they waited much longer, it could be too late.

     Maybe if he could _prove_ Pitts was the killer, he could convince Al that he needed to go home.

     “Stay with him, Gooshie,” Sam ordered, grabbing his coat, “I have an idea, but if things get bad…I want the Project ready to retrieve him. You got it?”

     “Y-Yes, sir,” Gooshie squeaked after him as he made a quick exit.

\-------

     The one person who would know the most about what these officers were doing, when, and where, was the captain. Sam had been hesitant to come to her about Pitts without any evidence to back him up, but at this point, he needed to take a gamble. If he could present a compelling case to her, he might be able to get her to call him in for questioning. And if he was the same killer who stopped after that piece of clothing was found, that would definitely be enough to put him into hiding again. The murders stop, Gooshie pulls up the info, and Sam had his proof. As solid a plan as any.

     On the way to her office, he was just reviewing what he was going to say in his head when he noticed something…peculiar.

     The captain was walking around the office and gesturing animatedly. Initially he thought she was speaking to someone just out of sight, but as he got closer he realized she was alone. Brows furrowed deep, he snuck closer and listened in.

     “…what’d you call it? A kick in the head?” She listened, then laughed. “I think it’s about time we paid him another visit. Then we can get to the good part of the leap.”

     Sam went stiff with shock. She was another leaper? But the only other leapers he knew of were leaped around by a _very_ different force. And if one of their agents was here, whoever it was…he had a better idea as to why the leap kept changing.

     The killer might be in that office.

     Steeling himself, Sam put on a more sure face than he felt and opened the door.

     Eads—or whoever she was—was already turned back to her desk and sorting through paperwork. She looked over her shoulder at Sam. “Bowman. I thought you were off today.”

     “Who were you talking to?” Sam asked, foregoing beating around the bush.

     Eads tensed up. There was a beat. But then she straightened herself up and put on an air of calm. “Myself. It helps me think. You got a problem with that?”

     “Really. Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were talking to a hologram.”

     Sam looked her dead in the eye, challenging her. It was evident from her reaction that she’d been caught, and now they found themselves in a standoff. The question now was who was going to act first. Now absent of her casual air, Eads’s face turned frosty but she remained quiet.

     “Who are you?” Sam asked forcefully. He wanted answers _now_.

     Eads’s lip curled up. “Oops. Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

     “I said, who are you?”

     “Just another traveler without a home.”

     As Sam moved, so did the leaper. They circled each other, fingers tense at their sides, each one trying to anticipate the other’s next action. If Sam knew one thing about this leaper, it’s that they were dangerous and he shouldn’t let his guard down.

     “Are you Zoey? Thames?”

     “What is this, an interview?” the leaper asked flippantly, but he knew they were covering.

     “Did you murder those women?” Sam wasn’t as good at covering up his anger. And to his disgust, the leaper’s smile grew wider.

     “No. But it kills you that you couldn’t stop it, doesn’t it? How does it feel to have their blood on your hands?”

     Sam’s fists clenched at his side in silent fury. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of knowing they got to you. With a controlled voice, he demanded once more, “ _Who are you?_ ”

     Just for a millisecond, the leaper’s eyes flicked to the hefty paperweight on the desk. It was just enough to tip Sam off. The leaper sprung for it, but Sam’s hand shot out and snatched their wrist.

     But rather than the usual sparks and static, Sam was instead assaulted by a wave of newly uncovered memories, previously hidden by his swiss cheese brain. He remembered leaping into New York another time, in the 70s, and how much _loathing_ he had, and another Sam who was trying to take over his body, a Sam who was full of such hatred and bitterness, who had shot a man in the head, stabbed a woman in the back, who just wanted nothing but destruction, and Al was there but he wasn’t Al, not the Al who betrayed him but one who wanted him dead, and there was blood and glass and the scar of time itself—

     Sam gasped, retracting his hand as if he’d been burned, now face to face with _himself_. He could only stare, too shocked to move.

     The other Sam took advantage of this and bolted.

\-------

     Huddled in the corner now, Al clamped his hands to his head as the pain continued to torture him. His nose and ears had started to bleed again, but he didn’t have the mental room to pay them any attention. It was too damn noisy as it was!

     The victims. Sophia Landon, Emily Quigg, Sadie Walsh, Victoria Hershey, Jennifer Ainsworth, Candice Mahoney, Sophia Landon, Emily Quigg, Sadie Walsh, Victoria Hershey, Jennifer Ainsworth, Candice Mahoney,

_SophiaLandonEmilyQuiggSadieWalshVictoriaHersheyJenniferAinsworthCandiceMahoney_

Sophia gun Emily knife Sadie pills Victoria razor Jennifer rope Candice tub—

_SophiaLandonEmilyQuiggSadieWalshVictoriaHersheyJenniferAinsworthCandiceMahoney_

_Al Calavicci._

Al shuddered. There was a 76.35% chance he was the killer, a 64.93% chance the chip was malfunctioning, a 54.75% chance he was losing his mind, and a 72.837562947% chance he was going to die. It was simple fact, his body could only take so much, but if Sam could just face the facts maybe they could leap out. Maybe he could turn himself in.

     He couldn’t shake the image of the bodies from his mind—but not just the ones from the leap, the women before, women he never saw except for their smiling head shots, only now they were broken and empty and he knew, just _knew_ , what their lives were, their families, their jobs, little things like winning the science fair in 1964 or car repair records or—

     “You keep burning the midnight oil, you’re gonna go up in a blaze.”

     Al gasped and looked up. He was staring at another Al, who was shrouded ominously in cigar smoke. Dressed in a long black trench coat, he looked like the angel of death. “What?”

     “Admiral?” asked Gooshie, but Al ignored him.

     “Keegan went out in a blaze of glory, didn’t he?” The other Al studied the tip of his cigar. His eyes flicked up. “He was one of the lucky ones.”

     76356493547572837562947SophiaEmilySadieVictoriaJenniferCandiceTom

     Al ducked his head low.

     “You know exactly what the last thing Keegan saw was, because you saw it too when your plane was plummeting to the earth. Only that was just the beginning.”

     “Shut up!”

     “You know what those women felt when you sent them to the great beyond.”

     “Stop it!”

     The other Al’s voice was a chilly whisper now as he stared down at him without emotion. “You’re nothing. You’re garbage. You’re lower than dirt.”

     “No!”

     “Who are you talking to?” Suddenly Gooshie was in his face, and Al jumped and scrambled back. But his attention snapped back toward his double.

     The other Al was crouched next to him, eyes narrowed. “It’s your body, pal. Bury it.”

\-------

     Sam’s feet crunched desperately through the snow, twisting this way and that in search of his doppelganger. His mind was racing a mile a minute as he tried to make sense of his fragmented memory. Now he knew about the other Sam, who he’d buried and forgotten, but not any of the how or why. He had glimpses of his other life left over from when they were one, pieces of the other Project, of seeing Al, of a gun and a man and a tree.

     It was him but _not_ him. He’d become twisted into something unrecognizable. In another timeline, Sam had been capable of such evil. He could hardly fathom it. Did something like that really lie inside him?

     And Al knew. He knew but he never told him. God, he remembered everything from that timeline. He knew what Sam had done this whole time.

     He’d protected him.

     Gooshie popped in a few feet away. “Dr. Beckett.”

     “Gooshie.” Sam determinedly stomped over to him.

     Gooshie clutched the handlink uneasily with both hands. His eyes drifted to the left. “I-I don’t want to alarm you, but the admiral isn’t…doing so well. He’s talking to someone who isn’t there again. I think he’s, y’know…” He twisted his finger by his head.

     “I was wrong, Gooshie,” Sam interrupted, “He’s not seeing things. There is someone there.”

     Gooshie leaned his head forward, bewildered. “I beg your pardon?”

     “Another Sam. I saw him too.”

     Now worried for Sam’s sanity as well, Gooshie held the handlink to his chest helplessly. After a moment, he began to tap in information. He hoped this leap didn’t depend on him, because he didn’t want that kind of pressure! “I…see…”

     “August 4, 1977,” Sam said, jaw set grimly. Gooshie’s jaw slowly dropped as it dawned on him what that meant. Maybe he would’ve preferred temporary insanity. “He’s real, Gooshie.”

     Abashedly scratching the back of his head, Gooshie sunk down low. “Don’t be mad, Dr. Beckett. Admiral Calavicci didn’t want you to know.”

     “I’m not mad, Gooshie _,_ ” sighed Sam. There wasn’t _time_ to be mad. “But whatever is happening to Al, I’d bet my life it has to do with him. Now I… _sort_ of remember what happened, but I need to know what you know.”

     “W-Well, I wasn’t the Observer at the time, so I can’t tell you the exact details of everything.”

     “Why don’t you check Ziggy’s records?”

     “That’s sort of a problem,” Gooshie admitted, feeling worse for having bad news on top of bad news, “See, we can’t access a lot of the leap archives because they’re hidden behind your and Admiral Calavicci’s codes. That includes the record of that leap.”

     Sam rubbed his eyes in frustration. Of course. This leap just kept getting better and better.

     “But I can tell you what I remember,” Gooshie offered. He slipped the currently useless handlink back into his lab coat. “Why don’t we start with what you know, and I’ll fill in the blanks?”

     Sam ran his hand through his hair, recalling what he could. “Okay, um...I know this…other Sam worked for the evil leapers, and we were stuck together that one leap. And there was another Al there, but I don’t know why.”

     “Right, my understanding is that they were both trapped in the time stream by a paradox after correcting the timeline where you were working for the—er, not so nice leapers. When you leaped, they followed you out.”

     Sam remembered the gun, his other self pulling the trigger. He tried to push the memory away from his mind. He furrowed his brows as he thought of Al’s alternate self. “We tried to kill each other.” He shook his head. It was like remembering someone else. “But I split from the other Sam when I leaped. How is he here?”

     “Um, heh, funny story…” Gooshie blew out a breath. This was very complicated. “Your alternate selves were evidently able to escape the time stream again, because they both tried to sabotage the Project.” He gulped at the unpleasant memory. “They set the place on fire, it was not nice. My mustache got singed! It smelled horrible.” Ironic words coming from someone with legendarily bad breath.

     Sam’s stomach twisted up thinking about that. He should have been there. Wait…was he? He remembered something about a fire at the Project now that he thought about it…and hugging Al and Donna. And then he was gone and he’d forgotten it. At every turn, his mind was determined to erase his alternate self from his memory. And Al and Donna had been left to pick up the pieces. Alone.

     He frowned. “Wait a minute, both of us? I thought we hated each other.”

     Gooshie shrugged, just as stumped as he was. “I don’t know, Dr. Beckett. I guess they made up.”

\-------

     “Fuck!” Beckett screamed as he burst through Eads’s front door. He picked up a bookend from the shelf and slammed it through the wall.

     He was followed by a peeved off hologram, who ignored the open door and phased through the wall. “Constructive, Sam. That’s gonna fix everything.”

     “Now is not the time for jokes,” Beckett spat, running his hand through his hair. He was furious at himself for being so careless. “We’ve fucked the whole thing!”

     “Who’s ‘we’? I wasn’t the one who let himself be touched.”

     Beckett glared. “Why is it those two bring out the worst in us? Aren’t we supposed to be good at this?” He snarled and kicked his foot into the curio stand, smashing the glass. “I can’t _believe_ this!”

     Calavicci raised his hands calmingly. “Would you stop being so melodramatic? We haven’t lost yet.” Beckett glowered and Calavicci rubbed his finger under his nose. “Listen, uh, there’s still time. All we have to do is get to him before the other you does.” He looked at the handlink. “Lothos gives it a 43.87% chance of success.” Beckett didn’t like those odds. Calavicci frowned and dipped his head closer to the handlink. “40.6% now. 37.29. Why the hell is it going down?”

     Beckett circled around to get a look for himself, when suddenly something smashed into his head and he fell face down onto the floor.

     “SAM!” Calavicci whipped around to see a large figure looming over Beckett’s unconscious body.

     Malicious, evil eyes stared down at who he perceived to be a vulnerable, helpless woman.

     “Hey! You get the hell away from him! Sam! Wake up!” But his screaming was useless.

     Damn it, why hadn’t they been paying more attention?! Beckett could take care of himself, and they’d been so preoccupied with their doubles, they never even considered him becoming the next victim. The killer took Beckett by the wrists and began to drag him away as Calavicci swung his fists ineffectively through his body.

     Shit! Shit! Shit! What was he gonna do?! Calavicci had stepped into the Accelerator once to save him, but their overlords had made sure he wouldn’t be able to take another unauthorized leap. And Beckett was out cold. He couldn’t die like this, not after surviving the hell they’d been through! What the fuck kind of ending was that? But how the hell could he help him when he couldn’t affect anything in 1982?!

     Except.

\-------

     “Can you lock onto him?”

     “Negative,” Gooshie responded, “Something seems to be interfering with our signal.”

     Sam ran his hand over his mouth. “Three guesses as to what that could be.” Pulling himself together to take control, he ordered, “Get whatever information you can from Ziggy; try and figure out what this other Sam is doing and how he could be hurting Al. And _hurry.”_

“Yes, sir!”

“Hey, uh—you!”

     Startled at the familiar voice, Sam quickly pivoted around and saw Al. He narrowed his eyes. He sounded different.

     No, that wasn’t Al. He was holding a cigar and dressed in black clothes that decidedly didn’t fit the time period. This was the other one. And if Sam had to guess, he’d been who his other self was talking to in the office.

     He stepped closer. Sam wasn’t sure why, but he backed away. He knew he was a hologram and he couldn’t hurt him.

     “You.”

     “Who?” Gooshie asked. He squinted to try and see what Sam saw. Apparently this Al wasn’t tuned in to other holograms from the future.

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah, me, can we do all the small talk later? I’m on a time crunch here!”

     Thrown off by the unexpectedly urgent tone, Sam temporarily forgot to be angry.

     The other Al closed in. “He’s got him!”

     “Huh? Who got who?”

     Calavicci lowered his eyelids as if he was very stupid. “What do you mean, who? The killer! He got my Sam and he’s gonna kill him!”

     Suddenly suspicious, Sam instantly put up his guard. They were really gonna pull the same trick twice? Half-laughing, he asked, “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

     With hysteric frustration, Calavicci shook his head. “No no! I know this seems like a trick, but it isn’t! Sam’s really gonna die!” He smacked his hand over his eyes. “Aw jeez! Just ask your Observer!”

     Maybe he shouldn’t have…but Sam was curious now. He seemed so sincere. “Gooshie, what happens to Sherry Eads?”

     Gooshie consulted the handlink and his eyes went wide. “Uh-oh. According to Ziggy, three hours from now she’s found dead from carbon monoxide poisoning! How did you know something happened to her?”

     Sam’s face fell slack. He looked to Al’s double, who waited impatiently for him to receive the information. It dawned on him what a bizarre situation he found himself in. “Why don’t you just retrieve him?”

     “I’m not in charge of that!” Calavicci yelled, dancing antsily, “I can’t just leap him out willy-nilly; Lothos doesn’t think the leap is over. And we don’t have the luxury of arguing right now, so would you hurry up and save him?!” He gestured his arms wildly for Sam to get moving.

     And for the first time, Sam found himself hesitating to save someone’s life. These two had caused so much grief and misery. He didn’t know about this Al, but he knew what the other Sam had done. The lives he ruined, the choices he made. He thought of his Al, frightened and hurt and possibly dying, and it was all their _fault_.

     “Why the hell should I help you?”

     Calavicci blinked. His eyelids lowered and his face softened, just a bit, genuinely at his mercy. And just behind those eyes…he saw the Al that was his friend. “Because I’m askin’ you to.”

     Maybe they were monsters, but Sam would never become like them. 

\-------

     Eads’s door was shut, but it was still unlocked. Sam raced into her house and tore through the living room in search of the door leading to the garage.

     “Over here!” Calavicci waved him over. “Hurry your ass up!” And he ran through the wall.

     Once inside the garage, Sam spotted his other self inside the car, still unconscious and the exhaust running. Acting quickly, he opened the door, turned off the car, and dragged the other man back into the living room. Behind him trailed two anxious holograms, one a little more befuddled than the other.

     Within the span of a less than an hour, Sam had not only had to accept that there were two of him, but now he was tasked with bringing _himself_ back to life. Which might seem like too much to handle, but the truth was at the moment he wasn’t even thinking about the fact the other man was his exact double. All he was concentrating on was getting him breathing again. He applied CPR as the holographic onlookers watched worriedly.

 _Don’t die. Please don’t die_. _No more this leap._

     “C’mon, Sam…” Calavicci pleaded softly, “Don’t die on me, kid.”

     For a moment, Sam thought he was too late. But then, a miraculous breath of life.

     All three of the others simultaneously sighed in relief. Beckett’s eyes flew open as he went into a coughing fit.

     Sam allowed himself a small smile. He was alive.

     Catching his own breath, Sam looked up at the other two and noticed Calavicci staring at him. He didn’t know what to make of his expression. Gratitude marred by stony, tired eyes. Whoever this Al was currently compared to when he had first encountered him, this Sam must have meant a great deal to him now.

     Sam returned his attention to Beckett on the floor, rolled on his side and still recovering. “Are you okay?”

     The moment Beckett’s eyes focused and made him out, his reaction was instantaneous. “Shit!” Filled with disgust, he scrambled back until the wall stopped him. “What the hell?! Where am I? What’s going on?”

     Sam raised his hands. “You were almost killed. I just got you back.”

     “How did—when—” Sam’s attitude was alarming him. Why was he being so nice? Still trying to make sense of things, Beckett’s gaze searched the room and fell on Calavicci. He almost seemed…apologetic.

     And when Beckett realized what had happened, his expression hardened. He’d gone to the enemy, _dared_ to make a deal with the devil. He thought he’d known better.

     Scowling at Sam through running mascara, Beckett slowly scaled his way up the wall. “Who gave you the right?”

     “You’re welcome.” Sam couldn’t help the slight defensive tone edged into his voice. This man had tried to effectively kill him, after all. Among other things. “Look, I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you either. But maybe, considering I saved your life, we can actually talk about this.”

     “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare!” Beckett staggered forward, pointing accusatorially at him. Sam backed up at the hostile movement. “You don’t get to play the hero! Not in my story!”

     Baffled, Sam shrugged his hands. “Sorry. I wasn’t just going to let you die.”

     “No,” Beckett spat out like venom, “That would be too kind.”

     Sam didn’t know what to say to that. Before he could figure it out, his double had bolted out of the house. He was getting real tired of chasing him around! He looked for the other Al, but he too had suddenly vanished. Gooshie shrugged at him.

     “Damn it!” Sam yelled. He ran outside, but Beckett was already peeling out in Eads’s other car.


	6. Chapter 6

     “Son of a bitch!” Beckett slammed his palms into the steering wheel, briefly pressing his forehead down. It aggravated his new headache thanks to their good friend Mr. Serial Killer.

     Calavicci had already popped into the car next to him. “Sam, I—"

     “Don’t even start, you traitor!" 

     “Look, I had to, alright?!” Calavicci shouted over him angrily, “You were gonna die! I didn’t wanna do it, but I didn’t see any other option!”

     “He’s the enemy! You don’t work with the enemy!” Beckett slammed his fist into the side of the car as he tried to calm himself down.

     Calavicci was also trying to control his temper. He licked his lips and thought for a moment. “Sam,” he said in an even voice, “this whole thing has spiraled out of control. I say we ask Lothos to pull you out. As far as the murders are concerned, we’ve done our job.”

     “Pull me out?” Beckett asked with disdain, “Now? Are you kidding me? We’re so close!”

     “It’s not worth it, Sam! The longer you stay, the bigger the risk, and The Project won’t be happy if you end up killing this timeline’s Sam before they do what they wanna do.”

     Beckett’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel at the reminder that he couldn’t touch him. “Oh no…you wouldn’t want me to hurt _Saint Beckett_ , would you?”

     Calavicci’s eyes slit too. “What are you getting at?”

     “Just because he saved me doesn’t mean he isn’t who he is. Don’t ever forget!”

     “Don’t you turn this on me and act like I don’t know!” Calavicci shouted furiously, “I’m in the same fucking shit-hole you are! So don’t be bitching like you have it so much worse! I know what kinda hell we live in!”

     Beckett went quiet.

     Calavicci lowered his voice, straightening the lapels of his jacket and craning his neck. “We hurt ‘em. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll get a chance to do it again. But for now, I think we should get out while the getting’s good.”

     Beckett wrung his hands on the steering wheel, the leather squeaking under his fingers in silent fury. Calavicci watched him, hoping he’d agree. He didn’t want to see him get hurt again. Didn’t want to lose him and be left all alone. He couldn’t survive if he was alone.

     Using his hand, Beckett started to wipe off the remaining makeup on his face. “I can’t. I have to finish this.”

     The most important thing to Calavicci was Beckett. The most important thing to Beckett was revenge.

\-------

     _SophiaLandonEmilyQuiggSadieWalshVictoriaHersheyJenniferAinsworthCandiceMahoney_

_Quiet quiet quiet quiet QUIET_

_Tom’s dead Tina’s married wife number six wife number six gas chamber Captain Al Calavicci 87.92% the chip_ _76356493547572837562947SophiaEmilySadieVictoriaJenniferCandiceTom_

     _Just turn it off, turn it off, TURN IT OFF!_

     “Al?”

     Someone lightly touched Al’s arm and he screamed, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. The pounding in his head screwed up his eyes, but he was able to make out Sam. Sighing, he let his head fall between his knees. “God, Sam, it’s you…”

     “Yeah. It’s me.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Al…something’s happened. Are you listening?”

     “Yeah…” Al said through his knees. The ringing in his ears was low enough to hear over at the moment.

     “We think we know what’s happening now. Al. Look at me.”

     Forcing his head up, Al faced Sam and saw just how worried he was. Sam pursed his lips, hesitant to share this information. Whatever attention Al could spare—and admittedly it was very little—it was focused on his friend.

     “You were right,” he admitted, “You are the killer.”

     Right then and there, Al’s heart sunk like a stone. He’d known this all along, but to hear it from Sam—that was the final nail in the coffin. He’d seen Sam as his champion. As long as he believed he was innocent, there was some slim chance it could be true. But now he was faced with reality: of his own volition or not, he’d killed people.

     “I’m sorry, Sam!” Al gasped, “I’m sorry!”

     “You don’t need to be sorry,” Sam said reassuringly, grabbing him by the shoulders, “It’s not your fault.”

     That was little comfort. Al licked his lips. “So what…what do we do?” he asked softly.

     Sam leaned in closer, made sure their eyes met. “You have to kill yourself, Al.”

\-------

     Impatiently drumming on the steering wheel, Sam drove the streets searching for the captain’s vehicle. He felt stupid simply wandering without a clear idea of where to go, but he didn’t see what else he was supposed to do. He just hoped no one else was going to die.

     Gooshie popped in next to him.

     “Were you able to lock onto the other Sam?”

     “No,” Gooshie answered, and Sam’s frustration grew. However, Gooshie immediately lifted an excited finger. “But we _think_ we’ve solved the riddle of what’s happening to Admiral Calavicci!”

     That gave Sam a little more hope. “You do?”

     “It’s so simple! But we didn’t connect the dots until we realized the other project was involved!” Gooshie raised his hands animatedly. “Because Admiral Calavicci is connected to Ziggy, the other leapers essentially hijacked the signal and overloaded it. So the chip has been sending excess information directly into his mind! The timelines, whatever Ziggy has been researching about the leap, you name it!”

     “Oh boy…” Sam breathed, shocked, “No wonder he was confused; the human mind isn’t meant to store that much information. That’s how he knew so much about the case!”

     “Exactly. And when we locked onto the chip to find you two, it was never meant to be used that way. What we didn’t realize was, every time the connection was scrambled and we needed to strengthen the signal, we were doing the same thing. That’s why he was getting headaches!”

     Sam went quiet and his stomach knotted up with guilt. “We were hurting him and we didn’t even know it.” If he continued leaping, he could die because of their mistake. Al couldn’t stay. And Sam would be alone again.

     It would be selfish to keep Al here.

     Sam didn’t want to lose him, didn’t want to be in the same crummy position he’d been in before Al had leaped to find him. But that was the thing. If he didn’t make these calls, no one else would. Certainly not Al. He’d follow him to his death.

     Sam lowered his head and gathered himself. “When can you retrieve him?”

     “Wellll…we can try, but we don’t really need to.”

     “Huh?” Sam’s eyes slid over, confused.

     Gooshie waved the handlink happily. He loved when everything came together. “Now that we know what the problem is, we should be able to fix it remotely. The connection doesn’t need to be the same as when he was Observer. All we need to do is lock onto Admiral Calavicci and adjust the signal.”

     Dumbfounded, Sam couldn’t believe their good luck. He was so surprised he stumbled over his words. “W—J—that’s great! How long will that take?”

     “Oh, maybe ten minutes, tops?”

     This leap was turning around! “Fantastic! Then do it!” Sam chuckled with relief as Gooshie began to press in keys on the handlink. That was at least one less thing to worry about on this leap. Al was going to be okay. God, he was going to be okay.

     “…oh dear.”

     And just as quickly as it appeared, Sam’s bubble burst. If it sounded like it would make this leap easier, it was probably too good to be true. “What is it?”

     Crinkling his brow, Gooshie smacked the handlink and it shrieked. “This is odd, but I can’t seem to lock onto Admiral Calavicci. His altered brainwaves have made it impossible to find him.”

     “Well that’s easy. He’s at my apartment.”

     “No, he’s not,” Gooshie informed him. He looked up with worry. “A-And I have more bad news.”

     Sam groaned. “What else could possibly go wrong?”

     “I’m just telling you the information I’m getting,” Gooshie apologized, “And Ziggy just found two new obituaries. Nancy Bowman…and Brandon Stokes.”

     Sam nearly crashed the car. He slammed the brakes and narrowly avoided smashing into the vehicle stopped at the red light in front of them. Panicked, he twisted his entire body to face the hologram. “They both get killed?”

     “That’s what I just said.”

     Sam closed his eyes in frustration and tried not to get mad. “When? How?”

     “According to Ziggy, Nancy Bowman dies of a gunshot wound to the head. Both she and Brandon Stokes were concluded as suicides.”

     “They both shot themselves?”

     Gooshie screwed up his face. “No, Stokes’s obituary just says he took his own life, and the police report was classified.”

     And Sam had a hunch who was responsible for classifying the report. He was beginning to regret saving his own life.

     He breathed deeply and tried to think. How was he going to save them both? “Pitts has only killed women, so he has to’ve gone after Nancy.”

     “That would be my guess, sir.”

     “Which means my other self is the one who kills Al.” Sam leaned on his chin and bit his thumb. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around his double, how hateful he was. After he saved his life, he was still going to murder Al. He wondered what it would take to get through to him. They’d tried so hard, but he was consumed. But perhaps that was the problem; he’d taken so many lives already, he might be past the point of redemption.

     Even after all he’d done, Sam wanted so badly to be able to save him. Maybe it was guilt. Guilt for the unintended consequences of building his time machine, guilt because…because even if it wasn’t him, it _was_.

     If there was anything left of Sam inside him, he could be reached.

     The problem was, he didn’t know where to find him or Al. They could be anywhere. “How long until Nancy dies?”

     Gooshie lifted the handlink. “Um…about two hours.”

     “Okay. I have an idea, but I need your help.”

\-------

     Same Calavicci, same old hat. If there was one thing he was better at than spreading misery, it was self-loathing.

     He wished he could forget what he had left of this timeline when he was friends with the other Sam, when he was the other Al, when the most important thing was his best friend. And even though they were apart, the greatest thing was when Sam smiled at him or laughed at one of his stupid jokes, just to know he’d made his life a little easier. That he meant just as much to him.

     But this Sam wasn’t _his_ Sam. This Sam was the reason he spent every day hating himself. Every fond memory was with a version of him that he wasn’t. And Calavicci knew that. He knew that the Sam that had truly been there for him, the one he cared about, was Beckett.

     And though Beckett didn’t remember the timeline, he knew this timeline’s Al. Before everything went to hell, he treated Beckett with a kindness he hadn’t known in thirty years. That’s why he had to die. He brought Beckett up and then tore him down. The pieces were stamped deep into the earth and turned to dust.

     But Calavicci wondered. If given the choice, would Beckett choose him?

     It was time for Al to die.

     Taking out the handlink from his jacket, he keyed in the sequence and popped in to check on the mission. The world instantly blinked into another surrounding, and he found Beckett outside Bowman’s apartment. He leaned against the wall and smoked, peering into the sunset in deep thought.

     Calavicci slinked over, slipping the handlink back into his jacket. “This part of that big finale of yours, or do you just like to waste my time?”

     Beckett glanced up. “Both,” he said through his cigarette. Smart-ass. “Where the hell have you been?”

     “Making sure you don’t get yourself killed again,” Calavicci answered testily, “You’ll be happy to know that Bowman’s ex-wife is the next one to get the ax.”

     “Good. That gives me a distraction.”

     “Uh, yeah, gotta love your friendly neighborhood serial killer,” Calavicci threw out dismissively, twisting his finger in his ear, “You tell me to kill myself?”

     Beckett nodded and smirked, running his hands over the flowers on his blazer. “All we have to do is wait. How long until he finally croaks?”

     Calavicci checked the handlink. “According to Lothos…about 11.6 minutes and then…” He whistled and pointed down. “He goes squish!” He smacked his hands together gleefully.  

     “So what do you say we go watch?” Beckett asked invitingly. He leaned in. “You do wanna see it, don’t you?”

     Calavicci chuckled. “Is the Pope Catholic? ‘Course I wanna see it. But you’ll probably get a better view from up there.” He pointed up above them at the clock tower. Pretty soon, there’d be Al Calavicci splattered all over the pavement.

     Beckett grinned and spread out his hands. “Better not keep him waiting then.” Tossing his cigarette into the snow, he strolled toward the clock tower.

     Calavicci watched him go and pondered. Maybe he was right to want to stay.

     The handlink’s screeching caused him to instinctually panic. It only made that sound when Lothos wasn’t happy. Confused, he took it out and looked at the screen.

     History was changing. For the better.

     Calavicci’s eyes bugged out and he shook the handlink. What the hell?! The odds were suddenly shifting out of their favor. But what had changed?

     It hit him like a right hook. His head flew up as he realized what had happened. The imposter was already making his way into the clock tower. Oh they were good.

     That wasn’t Beckett.

     “That son of a bitch! They hijacked our signal!” Pressing buttons frantically, he ordered, “Center me on Sam! Now!”

\-------

     “A-Are you sure about this, Sam?” Peering down nervously, the tips of Al’s boots dangled off of the top of the clock tower. Snow drifted tranquilly off the ledge under his weight. The ground seemed to be getting further and further. His thoughts tried desperately to swim through the din in his head.

     “Of course,” Beckett answered from behind, suitably empathetic, “You’re not _really_ killing yourself, Al. But Stokes is a murderer and this is the only way to stop him. As soon as you jump, we’ll leap before you ever hit the ground.”

     It sort of made sense, but it was hard to tell when everything in his mind had gone caca. If Al’s head blew up right now, he might feel a little better. He swallowed.

     “I-I dunno, S-Sam…what if you’re wrong?” Gee, it was a long way down.

     “Don’t you trust me?”

     Well, of course he trusted him. Sam wouldn’t let him die. He wouldn’t tell him to jump unless he had a good reason to. He must be certain it was going to work.

     But still. That was a _long way down._

“SAM!”

     Beckett startled when Calavicci appeared next to him. “Oh b—Don’t do that!” he whispered with irritation.

     “Everything’s fucked! You’re—I mean, he’s—I mean, the other Sam, he’s here! You’ve gotta stop yourself before he stops you!” Calavicci flapped his arms toward the door frantically.

     No. Not this time. He couldn’t take this away from him.

     Beckett bolted toward the door.

\-------

     As soon as Sam was out of the hologram’s sight, he raced up the stairs as fast as his legs could take him. So many elements had to come together for this plan to work—Ziggy being able to alter Lothos’s signal, Sam convincingly playing the part of his other self, Calavicci letting something slip—he’d hate for it all to fall apart simply because he was too slow.

     He took the steps two at a time, the light from the street cascading in through the back of the stained glass. But suddenly he came to a halt when he saw the other Sam come into view.

     Both of them were still now, their icy breath hanging in the air, waiting for the other to make a move.

     Sam was the first to speak. “It’s not too late. You don’t have to kill him.”

     Beckett half-laughed, taking a single step down. He leaned against the railing. “You know what? I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” Sam watched him as he slowly descended the stairs, a deceptive calm blanketing his underlying anger. “It’s kinda like meeting my deadbeat dad, y’know? You bring me into the world, you disappear, and then all of a sudden you come waltzing back into my life spouting off platitudes about doing the right thing and being an upstanding citizen. And what? I’m supposed to just go along with it like nothing ever happened?”

     Sam swallowed. “I can’t…change what happened to you. But you can change who you are. I know you don’t want this. You want to be a better person.”

     “ _I_ want to be a better person?” Beckett laughed. “You’re some piece of work, aren’t you? Looking down your nose at me. You know what your biggest problem always was? Arrogance!” His smile wiped away and he jabbed his finger at him. “Who did you think you were? God? Did you think you could tamper with time and get away with it? Don’t you see?” He tapped his chest. “I’m your punishment! Everything I’ve ever done is because of you!”

     To Beckett’s displeasure, Sam didn’t respond with anger. Instead…he seemed to feel _sorry_ for him. Sympathetic, like someone who was looking at a sick child. He hated it with every molecule in his being. Pretending that he cared now.

     With heartache, Sam simply said, “I’m sorry.”

     This filled Beckett with insurmountable rage. He lunged at him with a primal yell, sending them tumbling down the stairs. When they landed, he got on top of him and started swinging punches. “You did it all! You killed all those people!” He slammed Sam into the railing, cutting open his head. “I’m Sam Beckett! I’M SAM BECKETT AND YOU’RE NOTHING!”

     The next punch, Sam was ready for. He caught his arm and kicked up, throwing his double over him where he landed with a thud. Pulling himself to his feet, he wiped his bloody lip and stared down at his other self with a good amount of anger of his own. “When are you gonna take some personal responsibility, huh? You can’t keep blaming someone else for all the decisions you’ve made!”

     Beckett panted lividly on the floor.

     “At some point, you’re going to have to either change…or accept that you’ve been the villain all along.”

     The other man launched at him again.

\-------

     “Admiral Calavicci! Helloooo?” Gooshie floated in the air in front of Al, waving his arms and hopping up and down to try and get his attention. “Are you receiving me? Don’t jump!”

     Either Al couldn’t hear him, or he wasn’t coming in at all. He tapped desperately at the handlink and kept trying. They just needed more time! Gosh, this was a lot of pressure!

     Nearby, Calavicci was utilizing his own handlink to make sure no meddling holograms stepped in to do exactly what Gooshie was doing. He popped out to check on Beckett.

\-------

     When he arrived, he found the two Sams duking it out. Neither of them seemed to be getting the upper hand; they were giving as good as they were getting.

     “Sam!” Calavicci yelled angrily, “Remember not to kill him! Lothos’ll draw and quarter us!”

     “Shut up!” Beckett yelled.

     Sam squinted. “Huh?”

     “Not you!” Beckett socked him in the jaw. Sam punched him in the side.

     Gooshie appeared just in time for Sam to stagger back through him. “Dr. Beckett, not to put any pressure on, but Admiral Calavicci dies in two minutes!”

     That’s it. He’d wasted enough time arguing with himself, and he knew just how stubborn he was. He’d deal with this later. With a rise in urgency, Sam ducked and swung his leg out, knocking his counterpart to the ground, and made a mad dash for the stairs. But before he’d made it, Beckett had grabbed him by the ankles and sent him crashing face-first into the steps.

     “Dr. Beckett!”

     Momentarily dazed by the impact, Sam felt his other self turn him over onto his back and lift him up by his shirt. “He’s going to die,” Beckett whispered, “He’s going to die and it’s all because of you.”

     Sam coughed. “He’s not…dead yet…”

     “Don’t kill him, Sam!”

     Beckett looked to Calavicci, who was watching urgently, and then to his double, who stared helplessly up at him with blood running down his face. His gaze move to his hand, wrapped around the fabric like a predatory claw.

     _Don’t kill him, Sam. Don’t kill him, Sam._

He was looking into a mirror and the reflection he saw looked like him but wasn’t at all. And he was seeing everything he’d denied, everything he’d deflected, everything he hated about what he couldn’t be. The reflection _was_ better.

     With disgust, he shoved Sam back down and backed away.

     Gradually, Sam stumbled back onto his feet. He looked at Beckett intensely from under his brows. “You say you’re Sam Beckett? Prove it.”

     Sam knew who he was, who he had been, all his life. Beckett knew this too. It’s what he wanted so desperately.

     Without the blow of fists, his other self was left only with his thoughts. Sam could see something in Beckett’s eyes, some small remnant of Sam at 16, begging for help. He turned away. “I can’t…change now.”

     With the clock running down, Sam made one last effort to get through to him. He stepped closer. “Yes you can. It just starts with doing one good thing.”

     “No. That’s what Sam Beckett would do.” Beckett turned around, raising Eads’s gun. “And Sam Beckett is dead.”

     “Sam, no!” Calavicci shouted.

     Before he had a chance to pull the trigger, Sam had kicked the gun out of his hands, spun around, and knocked him back with a roundhouse. His body reeled through the stained glass, sending rainbow shards all over the floor.

     “SAM!”

     Shaking, bloody hands were all that held Beckett up as he hung outside the clock tower through the broken glass. He glanced down below him and immediately regretted it, filling him with paralyzing fear.

     Everything in his life played out in front of him, everything he’d suffered, endured, but ultimately _survived_. And he realized he didn’t want things to end this way—not because he was afraid of dying (he was), but because he didn’t want his story to end with him as the demon he’d seen in the man before him.

     Beckett looked to Sam, terrified. His frozen hands started to slip, and he swallowed his pride and made a plea. “H-Help me…”

     “45 seconds, sir!” Gooshie reminded him.

     Sam looked to Beckett…and hesitated.

     Calavicci’s head nearly spun around in circles. He waved his arms furiously. “What’re you waiting for? You’re a damn hero, save him!”

     Sam didn’t move.

     At that moment, their eyes met and Beckett's expression…shifted. He knew.

     Sam sprinted up the stairs.

     Suddenly in shock, Calavicci locked eyes with Beckett as his grip began to fail. He began to frantically press buttons on the handlink. “GET HIM OUTTA HERE! NOW!”

     Before he could save him, Beckett slipped over the edge. He plummeted down within seconds, followed shortly by the horrific sound of impact with a car. The alarm sounded as shocked onlookers stared at the awful sight.

     The bloody, broken body was engulfed in red and disappeared, leaving a confused but unharmed Sherry Eads behind in the wreckage.

\-------

     _SophiaLandonEmilyQuiggSadieWalshVictoriaHersheyJenniferAinsworthCandiceMahoney_

     The torment in Al’s head was too much for him to handle. He’d been trying to work up the courage to do what needed to be done, but every time he thought he could do it, fear held him back. Sam was with him. Wasn’t he? This timeline. Which one was it again?

     He kept seeing their bodies. The blood from his nose was beginning to freeze in the cold.

     For Sam. For them. They’d leap out.

     He closed his eyes and moved one foot forward.

     “AL! NO!”

     Suddenly knocked back into the present, Al’s foot jerked back and he nearly fell backwards. He craned his neck to look back at Sam. There was blood all over his face. Why was there blood? Was he confusing timelines again?

     “Sam?”

     “Don’t jump, Al…” Sam cautioned him anxiously, slowly raising his hands and inching forward, “Please come down…”

     “Y-You said it was the only way to leap…” Al said, very confused.

     “Whatever I told you was a lie. I don’t want you to kill yourself.”

     “But…but those women…”

     “You didn’t kill them.” Sam stopped just below him. “And if you don’t come down, the real murderer is going to kill Nancy Bowman. We need to go stop him.”

     Al was trying, very hard, to put everything together in his muddled mind. Sam stood there earnestly, then reached out his hand.

     “And…got it!” Gooshie pushed another button on the handlink with a flourish.

     A sudden release slammed into Al like a wall, instantly letting go of all the pressure in his head and lifting the fog. The surprise caused him to stagger and slip. Aw jeez! Not this way!

     And Sam caught him, yanking him forward so that they fell on the roof in a heap.

     When Al looked at him, this time he was really himself again. Eyes alert, scared and confused but back to his senses. The Project had managed to pull it off! Sam was overcome with relief.

     Gooshie was smiling proudly to himself, hands clasped behind his back. He’d done good work. “Welcome back, Admiral Calavicci.”

     Almost afraid to ask, Al gasped, “I’m not the killer?”

     Grinning, Sam shook his head. “No. You’re not.”

     Filled with immense relief, Al closed his eyes and rolled off, letting his newly cleared head fall to the ground. He’d forgotten what it felt like to not have his brain on fire. He gulped. One eye opened to look at Sam. “What the hell has been goin’ on, Sam? And what happened to your face?”

     Sam got to his feet. “It’s a long story,” he said, pulling him up, “I’ll explain it later. Gooshie, go to Nancy.”

\-------

     By the time they arrived at Nancy’s apartment, there was about sixteen minutes left until she allegedly killed herself. With a little help from Pitts, of course. Sam and Al raced their way to the second story.

     Al made it to the door first. “It’s locked.”

     “Stand back.”

     Al did as he was told, allowing Sam to kick the door open, and they rushed inside.

     What they found shocked them. Patrick was on the ground crying, and five feet away Nancy was in the armed madman’s clutches, but it wasn’t Harvey Pitts.

     It was Jeffrey Bowman.

     A pause. Sam was stunned. “…Dad?” he asked when he found his voice.

     Jeffrey didn’t look angry. Just disappointed. “Derek…why’d you have to go and ruin a good thing?”

     “You killed those women?”

     Jeffrey pulled his head back and stamped his foot. Nancy shivered under his gloved hands, but didn’t speak. “I didn’t kill anybody who didn’t deserve it! Women are all the same, they use you and throw you away!” He pulled Nancy roughly toward him and pointed the gun at her head. “She did it before; she was gonna do it again! I couldn’t see her hurt you like the first time!”

     Sam stepped slowly closer, keenly aware of the gun. “You can’t kill her, Dad. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

     Blinking back tears, Jeffrey said desperately, “If I kill her, you and I will have Patrick all the time! She won’t be able to hold you back any more! Just let me do this, son. Let me do this.”

     Sam pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It’s over. Now that I know, I can’t let you keep doing this.”

     Jeffrey’s lip trembled. He knew his time had run out. Failing to see any other option, he sobbed and let Nancy go. Breathing frantically, she ran to her son and held him close. And as Sam was watching her, Jeffrey Bowman put the gun to his own temple.

     “Hey!” Before he could pull the trigger, Al had jumped at him and knocked the gun away. He tried to grab it again, but Al was able to hold him back as Sam reacted quickly to remove the weapon.

     “Just let me die!” Jeffrey pleaded, “Let me die now!”

     “Not this time,” Al said grimly. Over Jeffrey’s shoulder, he met Sam’s gaze.

     One more life saved.

\-------

     Sam had never even considered Jeffrey Bowman as part of the equation, but he put together the logistics. He knew about the cases because of his son. Derek had no reason not to trust him. He was his father, after all. So when he’d told him about the piece of flannel, he knew things had gotten too close. And Sam didn’t tell him this time around, so he kept killing. With a little help from…the others.

     What Sam _didn’t_ understand was why. In some sick way he saw why Jeffrey wanted Nancy out of the picture, but why Victoria? Why Jennifer? Why anyone? What would compel someone to take a strangers life? It made no sense to him.

     As he watched them push Bowman’s father into the police car, he thought of the man who had so lovingly told him how proud he was. Some things weren’t meant to be understood.

     He approached Nancy, who hadn’t let go of Patrick since the attack. “How’re you doing?”

     “Shaky,” Nancy admitted, “But I’m alive. Thanks to you two.” Her mouth twitched into a smile, which quickly disappeared. “I’m sorry about your father.”

     “Me too.” Sam watched the car pull away.

     Her hand clasped his shoulder gently. “I wouldn’t hold you back.”

     Sam grinned. “I know.” Gratefully, Nancy kissed his cheek. Patrick had a wide smile on his face. “And you, young man,” Sam addressed him, “Don’t you have a stuffed octopus waiting for you to tuck him in?” The boy giggled and Sam kissed him on the head.

     “You call me,” Nancy ordered. Sam nodded and she went back into the apartments.

     “What happens to them?” Sam asked the hologram behind him.

     Gooshie took his cue. “They remarry in six months,” he informed him cheerfully, “Brandon Stokes is their best man.” Sam smiled again. It felt good to have something positive come out of this leap. Gooshie scratched his head. “And…there are no more murders.”

     Sam nodded.

     “ _That’s_ a relief,” Al piped in, slinking up beside Sam and clapping his shoulder, “Boy, I’m glad that’s over. I dunno if you noticed, Sam, but this was not my best leap.” Sam couldn’t help but half-chuckle at Al’s smirk. He shivered. “You know what’d be fantastic though? If next time, we leap somewhere nice and warm.”

     “Oh, and Admiral Calavicci,” Gooshie said, “you should know that your chip has been fixed now, so you shouldn’t be getting any more headaches.”

     Al stopped as he was rubbing his arm from the cold, growing more serious. “Uh, good. Good. Nice to have my head on straight again.”

     There was still some unfinished business to take care of, however. And now that the happiness of saving Al had worn off, Sam had grown a bit melancholy. He knew he couldn’t take away his opportunity, even if he wasn’t in danger now.

     “Are you going to leap home?” Sam asked sadly. Underneath that was a blessing, a permission for Al to not worry about him. Sam wouldn’t keep him here, not when he had a chance.

     Without a trace of doubt, Al answered, “Not without you, kid. It’s both or nothing.”

     Sam smiled thankfully. Somehow he knew that would be his answer.

     Al focused on the snow in thought. There was still a big pink elephant to discuss. “Uh, Sam…about the, uh… _other_ you and me…I’m sorry for not telling you.”

     “…I understand,” Sam said. A pause. It surprised even himself, but…he wasn’t angry. Not at this secret. “I’m not sure my mind wanted me to know either. I’m just glad you’re okay. I never thought anything like that could come from me.”

     “He’s not you,” Al said firmly, “Maybe he started out that way, but he had a choice. He chose to do the wrong thing.”

     That was the difference between the two of them. Making the right choice. And Sam always made the right choices. Didn’t he?

     “So what happened after that fight, Sam?” Al asked, narrowing his eyes, “Did your evil double leap out like a coward?”

     “He’s dead.”

     A pause. Al stared at Sam with furrowed brows and wondered what that meant.

     Lightning surrounded them and they departed from 1982.

\-------

     The chill from the snow dissolved into a pleasant warmth. As the blue haze dissolved, Sam noticed something squished between his toes. He bent down to look. He was dressed in nothing but a bathing suit. His feet wiggled in the sand.

     He was standing on a beach, surrounded by a crowd of happy people swimming, drinking, and enjoying the shade of an umbrella. Behind them was a gorgeous resort, and sand stretched for miles next to a beautiful blue ocean. This was much nicer than any kind of leap-in Sam was used to. Maybe he’d grown a bit cynical, but he was waiting for the bad part to unceremoniously drop in.

     “Oh boy!” he heard Al exclaim. There it was. He turned around with a panic.

    Bedecked in a tacky Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and a straw hat, Al was sporting the biggest, happiest grin, a mojito in one hand and a model on the other.

     “Now _this_ is my kind of leap!”

\-------

     The sound of beeping droned over the humming from Lothos, filling in what was otherwise frigid silence. This room had been used for many horrors in the past, _experiments_ they’d decided to enact as punishments, whatever they felt like at the moment, but today it was used for the rare purpose of keeping someone alive. In the middle of the room sat a single bed, a mangled and barely patched together Beckett wrapped in casts and bandages and kept alive only by the machines that breathed for him.

     And by his bed stood Calavicci, barely contained, his wrathful fists creating bloody half-moons in his palms.

     He shouldn’t be here. Kept alive by machines, waiting to rot or die as a vegetable while that _hypocrite_ , that _vile_ , _disgusting thing_ that called himself Sam was just free out there. Acting like he was putting things _right_. Calavicci was foolish to trust him. He’d thought, stupidly, that for a moment he was the friend he couldn’t erase from his mind.

     Next time he saw him, he’d be sure to not make that mistake again.

     “It’s a shame, really. Such a waste of a perfect specimen.” Zoey was standing next to him, arms crossed over her white jumpsuit. “And Lothos was so fond of him…”

     “Get me in,” Calavicci ordered, more audacious than he had been around her in a long time. She quirked an eyebrow. “I want to talk to the Director.” He looked back at Beckett, focusing his anger on one goal. No more hesitation. “Tell him I’m ready to play ball.”

     Zoey’s lip quirked up in pleasant surprise. “Delicious.”


End file.
